


All That Remains

by Flaminea



Series: The Dalish Warden [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dalish Elves, Drama & Romance, F/M, Female Friendship, Grey Wardens, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Love Triangles, Mage-Templar War, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-17 16:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 103,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5877001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flaminea/pseuds/Flaminea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adrian Mahariel: a Warden, but also a Dalish who misses the Sabrae clan and his old life, who struggles to be the hero the world needs. As the years go by, the Mage-Templar war erupts and the Inquisition rises from the ashes. Still, Morrigan's raven, silky hair and Leliana's soothing touch remain engraved both in his mind and his heart.</p>
<p>[Partially non-canon, various POVs]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A prologue under the night sky

**Author's Note:**

> _The first three chapters **All That Remains** have been written five years ago. I have decided to get back to this story only recently, so… I restarted from where I had left. The whole work has been revised and reinvented, but the story still falls into the romance/adventure genre; the previous chapters are pretty much the same as they were five years ago in terms of content, I simply have refined them a bit. _
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> _**All That Remains** will cover the whole DA timespan, DAI included, starting from the final stages of DAO. Adrian Mahariel, Morrigan and Leliana are the three POVs, the three characters according to which the events will be narrated and elaborated. Any reader who should decide to follow Adrian, Morrigan and Leliana's adventures will visit pretty much every geographical area of Thedas. Where has Morrigan traveled to find the Eluvian, and why does she go to Orlais? What happened to Leliana before she becoming Sister Nightingale? Where was the Warden during DA2 events? I asked myself these questions, and I decided to answer in my own way. Obviously, this kind of narration calls for a narrow canon divergence._
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> _Last but not least – many thanks to_ **mille libri** _for the beta-reading!_
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> _I hope you will enjoy **All That Remains** as much as I will enjoy writing it :)_  
>  _Any kind of feedback is welcomed, concrits included!_

The night sky was clear, shining with stars; only a light breeze flowed through the trees. Adrian admired that night's beauty while he watched out of the tent, trying not to wake up the red-haired woman beside him; she had to be deeply asleep, because she shifted on her right side without making a sound, showing him a peaceful smile on her lips and closing her eyes. He hesitated a second, then softly kissed her cheek before sneaking away.

Of course, she must have heard him leaving: even though her sleep was deep, they all had become used to unpleasant nightly attacks, and they all had trained themselves to wake up to every single doubtful sound. That was why he had made up those stories about his... nightly walks: without that, both women would have awakened in alarm upon sensing him leaving.

He threw a glance at Zevran, who was sitting near the campfire, then melted into the shadows and crossed the whole camp, briefly looking back only once: as he came closer to the camp's more isolated tent, he noticed a light inside it. An amused smile took form on the Dalish's lips. He got inside the tent without having the black-haired witch see him; he kept staying in the shadows until he touched her lips with his own. Looking into her eyes, at first, he first caught a glimpse of alarm... which at once melted into hunger and passion; as he deepened the kiss, she put down her grimoire somewhere near before making him lay on her shivering body. 

The magical light died down.


	2. Torn apart

_One's honey sweet, the other has a bite._

_One's heaven sent, the other rules the night._

_And to the one I swear my love is true._

_And to the other one I break the rules._

"When I asked you, I had no doubt."

Adrian was still laying on his back when he heard the witch's words.

He turned to look at her. She was playing with a lock of black hair and was staring at him with a satisfied smile on her lovely lips. The dalish smiled in return and tickled her breasts' skin with his forefinger's tip.

"No doubt about what?"

"How possibly could you have chosen the bard instead of me? Not only she's totally insignificant, but she seemed to be reluctant even to kiss you. How much time did it take for one single kiss? Ridiculous... And all those talks about the Creator and love. I know you better." She giggled and reached for his manhood, softly but nonetheless temptingly.

That touch surprised him with perfect timing. Fortunately for him, as he was on the edge of risking to betray himself: for a moment, he'd felt a pang of guilt and remorse. After all, it wasn't right... After all... Luckily every thought of guilt vanished in the blink of an eye.

* * *

Almost an hour later, Adrian was breathing the night's open air again; it was almost time for his watch, Zevran was leaving the fire to get some rest.

He stood beside him, patting his hand on the elf's shoulder as a greeting.

"Tired?"

"Not much, my friend. What about you? You had some fun, didn't you" asked Zevran with an amused look.

"Why, wouldn't you enjoy a woman like Morrigan?" answered Adrian in response.

"Ah! You know me, I'd happily take a share if you both agreed, after all, even her cunning is deadly fascinating... But our fair bard has some good shots too. Don't you think?"

"A fine woman, yes. Why don't you try to win her affection if you like her?" Adrian looked at Leliana's tent then to his friend. "You may be lucky enough to explore her tent soon." 

"Fine woman, I agree, but too much concerned about feelings for my taste. I look for pleasure, not for love. Besides, she seems to prefer our elven Warden's attentions..." the former crow said, a little too casually.

Adrian cleared his throat, a bit nervously. _Does he know? Is it of use lying to one of my few friends in this camp?_

"We're just friends, close... friends, you know."

"Ah, and here you are revealing your secret! You see, I never asked you whether you visited her in her tent, yet you felt the need to excuse yourself. Well, Warden, I guess congratulations are in order, I myself couldn't manage such a trick, sleeping in the same camp with both. How's that?"

The dalish elf sat on the ground and covered his face for a minute, without saying a word. He looked at Zevran again only when he sat beside him.

"I've never been a particularly principled person if we talk minor issues," he began, "but what I'm doing... Well, the thought of deceiving two women after I swore them both faithfulness... the thought never crossed my mind. I can afford this only because there's no much time for roaming freely and lose time in public mawkishness... It's not fair, I know, yet I feel affection for them both and I can't seem to leave the hold of either. Morrigan's so fierce, so passionate, I feel free with her. and yet Leliana expressed love for me, she makes my heart beat when she holds me, she has become my anchor, the one I can count on. Slowly, she has earned a special place in my mind. But when I find myself in Morrigan's arms I think about her fire, her strong personality and I end up going back to her." Adrian blurted it all out as if those doubts had weighed on him for too much.

Zevran kept silence for a while searching for the right words, then spoke quietly.

"Warden, you're not like me, that's for sure. I chose pleasure over feeling a long time ago. Remember Rinna? I wounded her and was wounded myself. Now, our women aren't likely to die if you cheat on them, but it's not fair towards them and you'll end up hurting yourself too if you don't make a choice. I'm no prodigy of morality, but I always make things clear with the ones who I share my bed with. Find your peace of mind, or you'll likely lose them both."

And without another word, the assassin left him alone with his thoughts.

* * *

The next day, the group left for Denerim. The Landsmeet was nearing and they had to attend it, of course; Adrian and Alistair were at the head of the group and were discussing his role as king.

"I won't say I like the idea of being king, but if.. if that's necessary then I won't back away," Alistair reluctantly said.

"And what about the Queen? Maybe you should marry her and you could rule together. Maybe she's pleasant" Adrian pointed out.

Alistair looked puzzled. "Marry? I don't even know her, nor she knows me! Why don't you let her take the throne instead? Alone?"

The elf looked at Alistair before replying "I know you, but not her. She may as well be a tyrant, while I know you're not. If you can find the strength, I'd rather name you at the Landsmeet. However, if you don't wish to be king I won't force the throne on you."

They encamped three miles before the capital. Everyone was under great strain. After all, the Landsmeet was the final test, they all knew that it was the only occasion to defeat Loghain, to gain a chance to kill the Archdemon.

No one was particularly sleepy, so deciding the guard duties was pretty easy. Only Wynne and Morrigan had to force themselves to sleep, in order to replenish their magical energy.

Adrian and Leliana took the second shift. He stood silently by the fire for what seemed an eternity, until he felt Leliana's hand on his own and her head on his shoulder. Only then, he softly smiled and caressed her red hair.

"What's on your mind?"

He replied, whispering, calmly. "The Landsmeet. If we lose, Loghain will exile all of us and the Blight will be upon us. We would be hopeless. Leliana, he's the hero of River Dane, he's popular, he's mighty. And I'm an elf came from nowhere. I never saved anyone yet, at least, anyone the nobility will care about. Except for the Arl. And you're the one who told me not to trust the nobles, that they don't care about us."

Leliana listened, then silently turned around to look into his eyes. "Maybe your influence is not as strong as his, but his actions are questionable. And you... you're the kind of person who can touch people's heart, who can strike the right note in everyone. The Arl is by your side, too, and he can support you." She paused, staring at him with tenderness. "You managed to show me which was the right path for me, you lit the way for me, and, believe it or not, I'm sure the Maker is by your side." Adrian looked into her eyes, bewitched by the shining love inside them. Leliana took both his hands into hers. "My love, I put my faith in you, now and forever. You'll be successful, I know."

Her last sentence made him heart thud in a way he could have never, ever thought possible. Unable to speak, he just kissed her lips softly and held her close. _May she be the one for me?_


	3. Loving her is dying, loving her is pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Landsmeet is just around the corner, something breaks between Adrian and Morrigan.

_Loving her is dying, loving her is pain._

_Loving her was bleeding so I had to break away._

_Loving her was wasting, loving her was pain._

"Please follow me, Wardens. I'll guide you and your companions to the guest rooms. Take your time to get fresh. Later, Arl Eamon will meet you in his study," the elven servant said.

"Thank the Arl for his hospitality, and tell him we'll join him as soon as possible," Adrian replied

"Very well. Lunch will be served after your meeting with Arl Eamon." The servant bowed, and the group followed him.

* * *

Adrian had already worn his leather armor and was brushing his shoulder-length brown hair when he heard a knock at the door. Thinking it was one of the Arl's servant, he said in a loud voice that he would have been ready in a moment.

"It's me.. it's Morrigan."

The Dalish opened the door to let her in. The uncomfortable look on her face surprised him; still, there was no reason to not invite her in. Morrigan closed the door behind her and leaned herself against it, without watching him.

He stared at her for a minute, waiting for her to speak. When she didn't, he inquired "Everything alright? Your behavior is weird, to say the least."

She hesitated a moment, but finally she looked at him and began. "I... would like to hear your opinion about love, if you please."

Her words made his heart race and slow down at the same time. He struggled to remain calm. And his voice was calm, even amused, when he replied. "Strange question for a woman like you, Morrigan" he remarked, avoiding her question.

"Strange, you say? We've been together for some months, and once I even asked for... exclusivity. I asked you to stop passing so much time with the bard. I was jealous, you said it yourself. I wanted you to lay with me only, and at the time it was merely a... respect's issue. I thought I only needed to know that I alone was enough for you... Yet.." Morrigan suddenly feel silent.

Adrian took a step towards her, but before he could reach for her she started talking again.

"... yet you're frequently on my mind now, much more frequently than I would have thought possible. I fear... it could be love." She looked at him anxiously. "Please, tell me you don't love me."

She was staring at him now, on her face an imploring look.

He kept silence for some moments, without moving. At last, he took her hands into his and softly murmured "What if I did?"

Morrigan's behavior changed instantly: she curtly drew back and pushed him away. "Then we would be two fools! Love's a distraction, a danger, people like you and I aren't allowed to love each other!" she exclaimed.

He finally understood. She loved him, but at the same time, he was losing her. Deep inside, he knew he couldn't afford that. "Love's not a distraction or a danger! I want you here, with me, you and no one else. Please, release your feelings, allow yourself to make the choice for once! I told you, remember? You don't have to be as harsh as you learned to be in the Wilds!" He didn't dare to touch her, too afraid to see her leaving.

"..I don't deserve someone like you, I would only hurt you and you deserve the chance to build a better life," she answered, her voice creaking.

"You do, you deserve me just like I need your love!" While telling her so ,he tried to hold her arms. She abruptly stepped back, her eyes full of anger and sorrow. He could catch a glimpse of his light-blue eyes into hers, and what he saw was a desperate man.

"Tell me you want to end this. Just tell me that and I promise you, you'll find out you made the right choice," Morrigan said, coldly and sadly at the same time.

Adrian let his arms drop down, his eyes staring at the floor. He was overwhelmed by anger and delusion. On one hand he wanted to hold her and never let her go, on the other he wanted to slap her for being so selfish... and a liar. He clenched his fists, trying to dominate his anger. To no avail.

"Fine then! So be it, it's over. You were right, you don't deserve me, otherwise, you wouldn't be so damn selfish and you wouldn't deny yourself, and me, a rightful happiness! You're the ice princess, the strong one, and yet you're so weak against yourself. You can't even reach to me, the one you want, and you'd rather condemn both you and me. I only wasted my time with you, you can't offer me love!" Adrian cried out.

Adrian slipped her ring off his finger and angrily threw it against a wall.

"Worst of all, you don't even love me, or you wouldn't turn me down! You're just a liar!" he cried.

Morrigan stood still, emotionless, listening to him until he fell silent. Finally, she opened the door and said only two cold words before leaving. 

"Goodbye, Warden."

Adrian didn't stop her.


	4. To betray, to be betrayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Landsmeet takes place, and with it comes the loss of a friend. 
> 
> Later, the same day, Morrigan's proposition shocks Adrian to the core.

The whole situation was so grotesque that it resembled a racist joke; to the point that, the moment he had opened wide the doors of the Landsmeet hall, Adrian had wondered if he was about to be thrown to the wolves and into a trap. 

Even now, watching Loghain Mac Tir surrender, he felt like a living joke. What was a Dalish elf doing here, so mixed up in politics to need the Queen's lessons to win a Landsmeet? He didn't belong here. This wasn't his place. And yet here he was, about to proclaim the name of Ferelden's monarch and sentence a seasoned General to death. 

Once again, the doubt crossed Adrian's mind. And then he met Alistair's gaze. His Warden comrade, his closest friend, the first shem he had come to trust, was one of the nobles. Yes, he had nothing of their slithering tendency, and in the end, Adrian had had to admit that he wasn't born to be a King nor he didn't want to be one, that the best choice was Anora, after all. Still, he wouldn't have allowed Eamon to play such a joke on him. Adrian silently nodded to Alistair; Leliana, standing beside him, briefly smiled in encouragement, her beautiful eyes shining with joy and pride. Loghain would pay for his crimes.  
Adrian drew a breath, finally ready to deliver his judgement. 

"Anora Mac Tir will be crowned as Queen of Ferelden. And as for Loghain Mac Tir," Adrian turned towards the Hero of the River Dane, "he will die for his crimes against this country."

As a chorus of voices called for Loghain's death, exhorting him to execute the man, the intensity of Queen Anora's gaze pierced right through him. It was stronger than any voice, more powerful than any kind of 'justice' he thought he was about to administer. Her eyes, the eyes of a shem, spoke of family loss, of blood ties severed. Once again Adrian cursed the blasted Eluvian, his own curiosity, Tamlen's ability to convince just everyone to do as he wished. He hadn't asked for this. He didn't want to be responsible for just another crime, he didn't wish to see another family torn apart.

"What are you waiting for? Kill him already!" Alistair cried. Adrian looked at his friend, his brother, only to find out he couldn't go through with the vengeance plan Alistair had in mind. 

"Wait. There could be another way."

Riordan's voice echoed through the Landsmeet, suppressing every murmur in the hall. Once a prisoner, now someone who, as a Warden, had gained the right to speak his mind, he walked right through the crowd and stopped in front of Adrian, Alistair and Loghain. 

Adrian held his breath. Maybe, just maybe, Riordan would have provided a solution to his dilemma and to the trouble he had found himself in.

Once sure he had everyone's attention, Riordan spoke. "Loghain Mac Tir is an experienced warrior and a remarkable strategos, a man whose area of expertise is war. And what we're about to face is a war that could raze our whole world to the ground. The Wardens could use his abilities and his advice."

That was an undeniable truth. A truth that happened to be Adrian's way out from that thorny situation. 

"Absolutely not! He doesn't deserve a prize such as becoming a Warden! I want him dead!" Alistair exploded. 

Flabbergasted by that categorical denial, Adrian turned towards Alistair. As incredible as it seemed, the man who had utterly refused the burden of command and had, until now, simply supported him when his opinion had been asked, had now chosen to take the reins. Adrian gazed at Loghain. The Hero of River Dane didn't seem prone to intervene at all, his face a mask hiding any feelings.

"I thought you had given up on ruling anything, Alistair," Queen Anora coldly stated. She was a daughter, yes, but she was also a woman ready to fight with teeth and nails for what she wanted. 

Not daunted in the slightest, Alistair met Anora's eyes with his and took a step towards her. "I had. But I'm ready to take the throne, if it means bringing the bastard to justice," he retorted. 

In response, Anora nonchalantly addressed the Landsmeet. "Look at this! He would take Ferelden's fate in his hands just for the sake of vengeance. What kind of King would this man be?" Finally, casting a warning look at Adrian, she concluded, "I think we all know the answer." 

Adrian had had enough. The rhetoric, the game of power, the demands over him. Morrigan's image flashed through his mind. The shemlen's lies, their constant deception. "Mac Tir will live and will go through the Joining. Queen Anora will take the throne," he curtly declared.

He signaled Riordan, Loghain and Alistair to follow him. He couldn't remain in that room any longer. 

"Not so fast, Warden," she commanded.

Adrian stopped and turned towards the Queen of Ferelden. Each movement was an ordeal.

In silence, her hands folded, she waited until Adrian offered her his complete attention. She was either totally unaware or indifferent to his obvious desire to leave. 

"We have to solve Alistair Theirin's matter. As Queen of Ferelden, I demand that he publicly renounces every claim on the throne and retains his Warden status. Should he not abide by this, he will be executed in order to prevent any kind of... incident that having a person of royal blood still living could potentially trigger."

Alistair's voice boomed throughout the hall. "I will speak for myself. I'm not anyone's pawn." He gave Adrian a quick look. 

His gaze spoke of betrayal, disappointment, but mostly pain. A kind of pain that froze Adrian in place. Behind all his stubbornness and all his stern voice, there was a plea. His friend was pleading him to make the right choice. 

"It's either him or me, Adrian. I won't fight by his side. I will not call him a brother," Alistair affirmed.

Shocked, Adrian exchanged a look with Leliana. The Orlesian bard had paled, but overall he didn't see his own shock mirrored in her eyes. She was embittered, but apparently that turn of events had not totally taken her by surprise. 

"Then, Alistair, you leave me no other choice," Anora declared "than to sentence you to..."

"No!" Adrian exclaimed, taking a step forward. The whole Landsmeet whispered, scandalized. How dared a Dalish Elf, Warden or not, interrupt Ferelden's Queen? "You owe me, Queen Anora. Let him go unharmed. Exile him, if you think it necessary. Just… spare his life."

The murmuring of the nobles increased. Adrian wondered how bewildered they were upon seeing him, or anyone for that matter, call the Queen upon her obligations and state that she “owed” someone. He surveyed Anora's expression: she looked as cryptic as ever, but for a moment a glimpse of rage had flashed on her face. Adrian realized that, now that she has been granted the throne, she could ignore his role concerning her victory. He held his breath, waiting for her verdict. 

"Fine," Anora finally sentenced, "Alistair Theirin is exiled from this country. Effect immediately. He has until dawn to leave the Royal Palace and begin his journey."

Alistair's facial features hardened. There was no gratitude in the last look he shot to Adrian. Upon leaving, he didn't turn back; not even once.

The Dalish Warden followed his friend as he left the hall. A deep sense of loss invaded him. He had lost his first friend since his Joining and the closest to a family member, out of pity for a woman who didn't deserve it. Riordan and Loghain moved at his side, obviously ready to leave and begin the preparation. Adrian was stuck where he was. All he could think about was his enormous mistake. 

And then, a refreshing, affectionate touch drove away all his guilt: he focused on the gentleness of Leliana's hand upon his, and, if only for a moment, he forgot all his troubles. She was there for him. She wouldn't have let him fall into an abyss of despair.

* * *

The walk back to Eamon's estate had been a nightmare. They had to pass through Denerim, be paraded in front of the whole citizenry like a bunch of rare animals. The good people of Denerim had widened their eyes at the sight of the Teyrn of Gwaren side by side with Arl Eamon and the Wardens. Too fed up with that damned city, Adrian had ignored them altogether. 

But even when they had crossed Arl Eamon estate's gates and he had finally escaped the suffocating atmosphere of the town, there had been no peace for him. Adrian headed to his room, with Riordan's words still echoing in his mind. True, Loghain had immediately offered to sacrifice himself: it didn't matter. The truth was that upon hearing the terrible news, he had felt defrauded. He wasn't afraid to die, but he couldn't stand deception or secrets anymore. He hadn't signed up for a sacrifice. Even worse, telling him the eve of the battle was the same as removing his chance to choose. Perhaps, he could have turned his back on the Grey Wardens months ago; certainly not now. Leliana had offered to prepare him a warm bath, to help him make the most of that last evening before the battle. He had refused, feeling too nauseated by the weight of all those issues. He had chosen instead to spend alone what could have been his last night on Thedas. He wished to mourn all he had lost: his old life, his friends, his family. Adrian pulled down the handle and opened the door wide.

Morrigan was standing in front of the fireplace. The sight of her slender curves, of her raven hair now gathered in a bun – so silky under his touch, softly curly at its ends, was enough to make his heart beat faster. When she turned, for a split second he could have sworn to have seen a warm fire in her eyes. Then she blinked, and surveyed him with a distant, cold look. The spell was broken, and that breach let in a complex mix of emotions. Anger, both against himself for having been captivated him quickly, and against her for having dared enter his room. Guilt, at the thought of Leliana and her sincere love.

"Get out," Adrian barked, stepping aside from the door. "You have no right to be here."

Morrigan didn't speak at all, neither she seemed to be about to leave the room. She merely parted her lips, as if she was unsure what to say.

Despite the rage reigning inside him, Adrian found himself staring at those lips. The memory of them opening, willingly and hungrily, to welcome his tongue flashed in front of him. It was so real, so concrete that he could almost taste her mouth. 

"Please, Ad… Warden. I don't wish to pester you, and I won't stay where I'm not wanted, but," she finally explained, "there's something I need to say. Something you need to hear before the dawn comes."

Morrigan's words turned his sweet memory into a spark of hope. Her pleading tone, the urgency in her eyes. _Has she changed her mind? Is she finally ready to admit how she feels? Is she ready to be honest with me?_ The warming sensation of freedom that had always pervaded him in Morrigan's presence grew inside him. She, an apostate, someone ready to break the rules and seek for herself the life she wanted, had always been an inspiration. A driving force, an exhortation to break free of the chains of destiny. Leliana's face faded in the distance, replaced by Morrigan's dark eyes. 

"What is it?" Adrian whispered. He quietly closed the door behind him and stared at her, waiting. 

Morrigan calmly sat on his bed, as if she had always belonged there. She took a deep breath before speaking again. "I know what it takes to slay an Archdemon. And I come to offer a way out. You may call it a trick, but it can save your life and end the Blight at the same time."

Adrian stared at her in confusion. What she had said didn't make sense at all. Riordan had been crystal clear: for him or for Loghain, depending on who would have claimed the Archdemon's life, there was no hope of salvation. Morrigan was still staring, and he realized that she was waiting for him to talk, to say something. 

"It can't be," Adrian finally uttered. 

"It can," Morrigan retorted. She stood up, taking a few hesitant steps towards him. "All you have to do is..." She dithered, lowering her eyes. Then, she spoke without looking at him. "…All you have to do is lay with me. Just for this night. Then, I'll be gone and you won't hear from me again."

A crashing wave of disbelief struck Adrian. He gawked at Morrigan, at a woman he didn't know anymore. She either had decided to play the sickest joke on him, or she had no idea how those few words would have hurt him. Lay with her. Just one night. Gone forever. _Have I ever been something other than a plaything for her?_ All of a sudden, he felt sick: sick of her lies, sick of her mysteries, sick of her games. As he processed her words, one by one, he became aware of something that had escaped his attention earlier. _How did she know about the Archdemon matter?_

Still, the need to clarify what looked like a terribly wrong misconception was stronger. Slowly, Adrian struggled to look her right in the face. "I thought the last time we talked I was clear. Whatever there was between us is over. I'm not a puppet to play with whenever you change your mind, Morrigan. So I'll tell you once more. Get out." He turned, making his way towards the door. 

"Adrian! Wait!" Morrigan called out. The desperate note into her voice made him stop halfway. He hated himself for being so susceptible to her mere presence. It seemed that he was condemned to be subject to that woman, despite all her fickleness and her inability to offer him a true affection. For the first time, he wondered if she had somehow bewitched him. Adrian heard her steps on the floor. He didn't turn. He didn't want to look at her again and reflect in her lies. 

"This is not about you and me. This is about your survival. I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE! Don't you understand?" she cried. 

Strangely enough for someone like her, her cry resembled a plea. Again, fickleness. Adrian turned in anger, growling, "What do you care if I live or die?" The subsequent question came out a bit calmer. "And how did you know about what Riordan told us?" 

Morrigan halted where she was, gasping as if those questions had punched her right in the stomach. She bit her lip and guiltily looked away, avoiding his gaze. 

"ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!" Adrian shouted. She owed him that much. Just a chunk of sincerity, for once in her life. 

She gave a jump, casting him a sorrowful, maybe a bit scared, look. "I have known from the start. Even before I met you. It's the reason why I joined you and Alistair," she finally admitted in a thready voice. 

Adrian's every illusion shattered. She had been a liar from the start. Every smile, every kiss, every single moment, everything, had been a lie. And yet, there was a part of him ready to take her deal, to hold her in his arms, to beg her to stay and never leave. He swallowed that knot of longing, and all that was left was his fury. Adrian stared right into her eyes and murmured "May the Dread Wolf take you." Ignoring the anguish painted all over her face, he walked past her, reaching the bed. 

He waited until he heard the door closing.   
Only a deafening silence remained. A silence whose voice spoke of loss, hurt, and betrayed trust.


	5. To dance with the devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana has to choose between sharing her man with the Witch of the Wilds and risk to let him die. A shocking choice between morals and love, between the bard and the Chantry Sister...

The moment Leliana raised her fist to knock at Adrian's door, she knew she wasn't supposed to be listening. Every sense of hers tingled, warning that in that particular occasion she was the third wheel, that she should have gone back, turned a deaf ear and forgotten even the chunks of conversation she had grasped. 

But she simply couldn't. Not when Adrian and Morrigan were talking about the Archdemon and something concerning her man's survival.  
She could almost hear Dorothea's voice, or even Wynne's―they looked so much alike sometimes, reminding her that eavesdropping was wrong, that a Lay Sister of the Chantry doesn't spy on people.  
Leliana did something she had not done in a while: she looked back on Marjoline and on her grey morality. There was a substantial difference, she told herself: her former mentor had rarely considered the issue of actions much worse than eavesdropping. Besides, in this case, it wouldn't have been a whim. It was the thought that counted, and her intentions were good, unlike what Marjoline could have claimed. So, Leliana leaned against the door enough to hear Adrian and Morrigan, not so much that the wood could creak under her weight.

When only silence followed Morrigan's statement, Leliana started getting impatient. It was Adrian's life they were talking about. Why was he speechless? And how come the Witch was aware of something so urgent while she wasn't? Why hadn't Adrian talked with her instead about whatever was menacing him? How long had he known? Another feeling started creeping up inside her. Jealousy. Leliana didn't like the idea that she had been kept in the dark of something Morrigan knew instead. And to be honest, she liked even less to see Adrian alone with her. Leliana wasn't dumb; she knew all too well how they had been lovers months ago, and she could have sworn she had seen Adrian look at Morrigan with something resembling a nostalgic longing. In the end, she had always dismissed her doubts, because Adrian had been unfailingly affectionate, passionate and loving. Nonetheless, that bee in her bonnet had never really left. 

Then, she heard Morrigan again. Adrian laying with her? What in the Void did it have to do with the Archdemon? Leliana anxiously waited for Adrian's answer, her heart booming in her chest. The old, deep-rooted lack of confidence resurfaced. There had been a time when she had been sure that there was no way for her to compete with the raven-haired Witch of the Wilds; an exotic, more intriguing than her, woman, whose silver tongue and carefree attitude, even Leliana had to admit, could be appealing. 

The churning knot of jealousy in Leliana's stomach melted a bit when Adrian turned down the proposal. She exhaled, starting to relax. Maybe, after all, she was just being paranoid. Maybe she had nothing to fear. However, as that irrational relief died off, her mind started working rapidly. According to the Witch, his refusal meant the chance, or even the certainty, for him to die. A plan, an idea began forming in her mind. The mere thought of Adrian rolling in bed with the Witch was insufferable, but she would rather swallow that bitter pill than risk losing him. But how could he be convinced? He had refused already.

The plea in Morrigan's voice abruptly interrupted her flow of thoughts. Leliana widened her eyes, so dismayed that she almost fell on her bottom. She had never, ever heard the Witch beg anyone, let alone known anything to make her panicked so far; and yet, there was no mistaking. Morrigan was panicking, pleading and anguished. She really was desperate to keep Adrian alive. 

The obvious urgency in Morrigan's voice. The thundering anger pervading Adrian. Leliana began to regret being there, listening to something that was breaking her inside. In Orlais, she had learned to decipher people, to read their faces and their voices: she knew that people overreacted only when a raw nerve was touched. And she knew Adrian too, she loved his compassionate, forgiving nature, his ability to understand and condone a lie, just like he had done with her. Yes, Morrigan had omitted a detail, a significant one, true, but… There was no reason for him to get so upset. Unless...  
With a heavy heart, Leliana had to admit to herself that there was some part of Adrian she hadn't seen, and that part could not accept Morrigan's deception. She shook her head, refusing to connect the dots. She refused to think back on the way Adrian looked at the Witch. She chose to remain blind at the chance that her paranoia could be more than that, at the chance that he might have lied to her for so much time. She told herself there were thousands of explanations.  
Shivering, Leliana turned away from the door, cursing once again her curiosity and Marjoline's influence: she had heard enough. 

Suddenly, the door was opened wide. Leliana took one step back, barely avoiding having it thrown in her face. Under her eyes, the Witch of the Wilds turned into a grey, little dog and ran down the corridor. The door was slammed, and shut for good. She caught a glimpse of the grey dog as it turned to the right, and in the blink of an eye, she made her decision: she knew what had to be done. She wasn't Marjoline. She, Leliana, the Chantry sister, would save Adrian's life, and then, only then, she would talk to him, she would give him a chance to reassure her, to make her feel loved. A man like him didn't deserve to die, nor she could afford to lose the person that had showed her the way out of her darkness.

* * *

For Leliana, the few days passed at Arl Eamon's Estate had been more than enough to pinpoint the shortest way to the quarters assigned them. She knew where Morrigan's room was located, and she was also sure that the Witch wouldn't have left without packing her mother's grimoire. The same one Adrian, she thought as a pang of jealousy crept through her mind, had brought her upon slaying Flemeth. 

Leliana turned at the corner. Right in front of her was Morrigan, still shapeshifted in her canine form. 

Upon seeing her, the dog casually began to walk back from where it had come. 

“Morrigan, wait,” Leliana said, calling her back. 

When the Witch completely ignored her and sped up instead, she added “There's a patrol between our quarters and the gate. Stop now, or I'll ask him to help me retrieve the petit dog I accidentally let out.”

The threat worked. Morrigan turned, growling softly. The chestnut eyes of the dog, shining with annoyance, shaped back into the captivating, golden eyes of the Witch of the Wilds. Paws lengthened into graceful arms and long, slender legs. 

The two women cautiously gazed at each other for several seconds. Once again Leliana found herself envying the other woman. Her appeal, her fiery character, even the shape of her eyes. That woman could have worn those clunky Fereldan boots and make them look elegant, without any effort.

Morrigan broke the silence. “Well?” she inquired. “Make it quick, bard. I have no wish to stay up with you all night chatting of hats, shoes or whatever you have in mind. And even if I had all night, I can think of better ways to spend it.”

Leliana pressed her lips together, trying to ignore the whispering voice in her head, telling her that those ways may involve Adrian. “Spare me your insults. I know what just happened. I want to—”

A glimpse of surprise appeared on the Witch's face. Her only answer was to raise her hand, signaling Leliana to stop talking and to follow her inside the room. 

As Leliana obeyed and entered, to her own shock she found herself examining the surroundings, searching for whatever could belong to Adrian: a handkerchief, a piece of armor, a weapon. Maybe his elven trinket. When was the last time she had seen it around his neck?

“If you're done nosing around, you could do me the favor of telling me what do you want from me.”

Morrigan's voice brusquely brought her back to reality. Leliana looked at her once again: she was standing, her arms crossed, and seemed even more irritated. And in truth, they had never been friends; and she herself wished to get whatever it had to be done as soon as possible. There were no other reason to spend time with Morrigan. 

“I overheard you and Adrian.” The bard decided to get right to the point. “What were you talking about? And how is he in such danger?”

Without a word, Morrigan immediately turned her back on her. Maybe too quickly. Her shoulders, too, had become suddenly tense. “If you eavesdropped as you say, you know it is done. Also, I fail to see how the matter should concern you,” she replied, almost in a growl. She began packing her belongings; a tunic, a coat and a leather belt disappeared into her rucksack.

A sense of possessiveness took over Leliana. _Is that how she thinks she is? She is allowed to care for his life and I'm not?_ She covered the distance separating her from the Witch, grabbing her wrist and giving it a jank. 

Morrigan turned, her eyes flaming with rage. The book she was holding fell to the ground. “Take your hands off me, or I swear that—”

“Listen up,” Leliana exclaimed, “Adrian's fate concerns me more than you think. He's the one I love, he's my,” she emphasized the pronoun, “man, so yes, I do care if he lives or dies. I know you care too, so do it over and explain to me what threatens him and what can I do to make sure he survives the battle with the blasted Archdemon.”

To her surprise, all of a sudden the Witch went pale. The rage in her eyes turned into despair and incredulity. She disclosed her lips, but no sound came out. Her gaze went blank.

Almost as shocked as her interlocutor, Leliana let go of her. And when Morrigan's arm fell down her hip like a lifeless limb, she wondered the reason for that reaction. Was she really so attached to Adrian? Had she hoped to be in her place? A small, yet loud part of her rejoiced at the sight of the obvious pain Morrigan was in. That small part kept shouting how she deserved all of that, how all her charm was now useless. Leliana struggled to suppress that feeling: after all, we can't choose who we fall in love with. 

The silence between the two women grew, time stood still. None of them moved, none of them talked. Suddenly, Morrigan's staff crumbled down with a clang. Both almost jumped: the spell had been broken.

Morrigan spoke again, resuming her packing. “He refused, bard. I can't force him. And… would you seriously be willing to send him to my bed?” Her voice now sounded cold and detached as usual. 

Leliana bit the bullet. “I love him enough to endure it, yes. Provided… that you're sure he will survive, and you're willing to explain how whatever you have in mind works, I can make sure he's ready for you. Or...” she hesitated. The idea made her shiver. “...at least, not conscious enough to realize what is happening.”

The Witch shot her a bewildered look, surveying her as if she had turned into a stranger. “You do realize he will eventually figure out that something is out of order, at the latest when no Warden will perish, do you? And that he would never forgive you?” She briefly paused. “Or do you intend to lie to him? What does your Chant have to say about lying, hm?”

Leliana looked downward to hide the infighting her eyes could have revealed. Yes, she knew, and the thought of losing him broke her heart. Yet…  
“I know,” Leliana whispered, “and I don't think I would be able to lie to him about my involvement in the matter. I'm not sure I'd be able to forgive myself either. But I'd rather lose him than have to stand before his corpse.” 

For those brief moments, despite their mutual jealousy and the rivalry towards one another, Leliana felt comfortable baring her heart to Morrigan. If she was in love with Adrian as well, she could understand. 

Finally, Leliana drew a long breath. “I would agree to this… on one condition.” She glanced at the Witch: she was contemplating her, and her expression seemed pensive and sorrowful. Not only that, though: when they locked eyes with each other, Morrigan's gleamed with resentment. 

“What condition?” Morrigan finally asked.

Leliana answered without faltering. “After the deed will be done, you will leave. You will never seek Adrian out again.” She didn't give voice to her secret hope: to be able to omit her responsibility to him, or to be forgiven in the end. And should she be blessed with either, the Witch would have been nothing but a thorny presence. 

Morrigan fell silent, taking a couple of steps; pondering, considering the way she frowned. But apart from that frowning, her expression didn't reveal anything. In the end, the Witch glared at Leliana. “There might be… an alternative,” she slowly explained. “It doesn't have to be Adrian. Loghain would be an excellent candidate, too. Not Riordan, though. The taint is far too deeply-rooted in his blood.”

Leliana examined the Witch's face. _Why has she not told me so before?_ The old, usual mistrust emerged once again. This woman was in love with her man, and had proven again and again to be deceptive and way too attached to her secrets.

“What does this trick of yours require?” she inquired. 

Morrigan drew a deep breath, leaning against the wall. “Upon the dragon's death, the Archdemon's soul will search the Warden who has ended its life, and will try to occupy his body. Should any other than a Grey Warden deliver the final blow, the Archdemon's soul would enter a darkspawn's body, and we would need to kill the last of those monsters to end the Blight. But,” she explained, “if I could conceive a child with a Warden, it would be the unborn baby that would host Urthemiel's soul. The Wardens will be saved. All three of them.”

Leliana barely managed to swallow her anger. Had it been her plan all along? To trick Adrian into conceiving a child, and perhaps come back with the infant nine months later asking of him to take his responsibilities? Luckily, her relief was stronger than everything else: she wouldn't have to force such a monstrosity on Adrian. “And what of the―” she requested.

“Let's go find Loghain,” the Witch interrupted her, “and I will answer all your questions. I bet he'll want to know, too.” She paused briefly. “Am I correct in assuming that, now that you know Adrian doesn't need to be involved, you'd rather ask Loghain?”

The bard curtly nodded in agreement. “You're correct. But, Morrigan,” she grabbed her arm before she could reach the door, “our agreement stands. Once this is done, you will leave. In addition, Adrian must never know about any of this.”

Morrigan briefly smirked in mockery. That smile, however, was somehow veiled. As if she wasn't actually enjoying it. “You couldn't lie to him before, but you can now?”

Leliana glared at her grimly. Disgusted by the woman's lack of conscience and her inability to grasp the substantial difference between drugging Adrian and involving Loghain instead, she explained “Seriously? Do you deem the same drugging him and basically have him raped by you and involving Loghain in a wicked ritual done for the greater good?”

Stone faced, without another word, Morrigan broke free from her grip and opened the door. She looked back just once, making sure to be followed, before heading towards Loghain's room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leliana comes out of this chapter a bit dark. I know.  
> But I think it's still "her" :)
> 
> And for anyone wondering how Morrigan will react... just wait and see :D


	6. To murder your sweet memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan and Leliana attempt to involve Loghain in the Dark Ritual. 
> 
> When Morrigan leaves the Arl's estate, she meets someone from her past. Someone she thought she was done with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word _ferreng_ is the Alamarri for "bearing a child".
> 
> For anyone interested in inspirational music, the song I deem perfect for this chapter is _The undertaker_ by Puscifer.

“No. I won't do it. You two are fucking insane.”

Morrigan watched as Loghain turned his back on her and Leliana. He had warily let them in, he had listened, he had asked whether the child would be a menace to Anora and to Ferelden's throne or not. And now, he was refusing the deal. Not that she had expected him to be an easy prey: the man had never trusted her, the bard, or any of their companions, nor they had tried to gain his trust.

The bard took a step forward. “That's just so selfish, Loghain. Even if Morrigan's plan was to ruin the perfect reign of your daughter, you could always lie and tell her that you had nothing to do with the conception. Whose words would carry more weight? The Queen father's or a random woman's come from nowhere?”

Morrigan remained silent, leaving to Leliana and her insinuating words the task to convince the Warden. She allowed to herself to get lost in the kind of thoughts that once she could have driven away without effort. Everything was coming back to her in an unstoppable flow. Her first meeting with Adrian in the Wilds, how he had looked cautious but not fearful whereas his companions had seemed afraid of their own shadow. He had just looked her in the eyes and told her they needed the Wardens' treaties. In his gaze, she had seen the kind of defiance any Dalish shows against humans, but also the caution anyone, in this world, needed to keep living. And she had admired him for that.

Loghain's harsh words interrupted her thoughts. “Do you think I care whether the elf or the Orlesian live or die? We're at war, and every war requires its sacrifices. This...” his tone became tarnished with bitterness, “… is no different. This isn't one of your tales, bard. I'm not being selfish. I'm being pragmatic.” Sighing, he rubbed his forehead down. 

Her mind traveled to the next memory. Adrian's practicality, just like when he had killed the Arl's boy because he knew there was no other choice. His reserved nature, the way he had been friendly to everyone, but never enough to reveal more than what was necessary about himself. He had never looked down on her, nor he had poked his nose into her businesses. Then, she had noticed something else: his forgiving nature, his habit of gifting all of them with trinkets of different types, his kindness . The same kindness he had offered her, always being discreet and never imposing it. Only then, she had decided to give her plan a try, to use that gentle nature to get what she wanted. She had asked Adrian to kill her mother, to release her from those clutches. And he had agreed would be better to that. Maybe, if he was ready to kill for her, he would have been willing to participate in the ritual too. He was, after all, the most manageable choice, since Alistair hated her guts. She had seen the desire in Adrian's eyes, felt it in the warmth of his hands when he had given her that golden mirror. So, she had turned his craving looks into hungry kisses and desirous caresses. 

“I'm not talking about Adrian, or Riordan,” Leliana quietly explained, “I'm talking about your daughter. Leaving Anora alone does not affect you at all? Especially considering the recent disagreements between you two?”

Morrigan took a few steps, looking around without actually seeing Loghain's room. Loghain and Anora's relationship proved what she was sure of: no one deserved to be trusted, not even our own blood. She should never have allowed herself to indulge in his tenderness, his solicitude, his promises. Not just that; she should never have left the Wilds. That way, she would never have seen what a true bond could be, she would never have come to desire something similar for herself. In the Wilds, no man donated mirrors, no man offered gifts, no man swore to protect a woman forever. It's no trick, it's no illusion.

Loghain abruptly turned, the fire of rage in his eyes. “Don't even try to use my daughter to manipulate me, woman! I intend to make her proud of me by saving the country.” His face turned tense. “I will be the one delivering the final blow. Rest assured, your precious Warden will make it out alive.”

Precious Warden. Those two words were enough to make her cringe. She had allowed Adrian far closer than would have been wise, to the point that the mere thought of her inevitable departure had made her feel guilty for the pain it would have, no doubt, caused her. Blinded by love, she had shut her eyes at the sight the figure of the bard and him sitting together near the fire. They had always, always been close enough to make her jealous, but she had chosen to believe him instead of her instincts. In the end, all she had gotten in exchange for trust had been a deceit and plenty of lies. And even now, looking at the bard she felt a distinct pang of jealousy. But she wouldn't have bared her heart to her, she wouldn't have let her, or anyone, know how foolish she had been and how susceptible she still was to Adrian. Morrigan took her decision: Adrian Mahariel would pay, she would make him suffer. When Loghain sank his blade into the Archdemon's skin awakened unharmed, Adrian Mahariel would understand that she was behind that. If only he had loved her even one bit, he would be tormented by the image of her, and the man for whom he had renounced his dear friend Alistair, entangled in love-making. He would wonder if it was really what had happened. And that doubt would poison his idyllic life with the bard for years and years to come.

“Leave us alone, bard.” Morrigan briskly commanded. Her voice as hard as stone, she continued, “Your foolish babble is of no use.”

Leliana quickly turned, as if a serpent had just bitten her. “What? But I thought...”

That woman never knew when to shut her mouth. And yet, she had won the only man she had ever cared for. “If you wish to watch, just ask,” Morrigan snarled. 

With one last, darkened look, Leliana left the room. 

Now, purged of the presence of the bard and having silenced her rumbling feelings, Morrigan took her time to look around. Everything, every single item of Loghain's, spoke of war, of battles, of a prestigious, shining past. And all he was now, was a former hero in disgrace. 

“Are you going to nose around all night, witch?”

She slowly turned towards the Hero of River Dane. Even with his armor on, and despite his middle-age, she could tell he had a fine physique. She took a few, affected steps towards him. “You're not worried about your daughter. Are you? Rumor has it that she was ready to tear off Alistair's heart and eat it in front of the whole Landsmeet, if that meant for her to keep the crown and the throne. She seems quite capable of handling herself and whoever could stand in her way.”

Loghain shot her an indignant look. “Anora has never eaten...” he began, only to abruptly fall silent. He admitted, a bit more quietly, “She can take care of herself. It's true. Eventually, she will overcome her grief. She'll never know that my death was planned from the start, and she'll just assume that I died on the field for my country. As it should be.”

Morrigan briefly nodded. Nonchalantly, she scratched her collarbone with the tip of her middle finger, and traced the neckline of her top, her eyes locked with Loghain's. She didn't fail to notice how his gaze slipped out, following her finger. Morrigan pulled down the fabric enough to show a portion of her breast's white skin, just enough to arouse. The moment she dropped her arm down her hip, he gave a start and struggled to look her in the face.

“I know you, Loghain Mac Tir,” Morrigan almost whispered, as if she wanted to be discreet, to not put a secret on display. She got a bit closer to him. Now, he was at arm's length. “I know why you want to go for the final run and die. And I know that your daughter is not the only reason behind your choice.”

“Maker's breath, witch. You don't know me,” he hissed. Nonetheless, he didn't draw back, he didn't move at all. 

She ignored his remark, and got a hold of his hand with hers. While, at first, he seemed to resist her touch he quickly gave in. As she traced the lines on his palm, accurately, slowly, his hand relaxed and fell comfortable in hers. “Those… are the big, strong hands of a warrior. Of the man who saved his country from the Orlesians.” Morrigan brushed her thumb on his wrist. His heart was beating faster. She raised her gaze to meet his blue-ice eyes. 

“Aren't you supposed to support your Ward—” Loghain murmured.

“This is not about him,” Morrigan interrupted him. She struggled to keep her voice low, silky, insinuative. She was so close. She wouldn't let him slip away. So many times she had seduced a man, led him to believe whatever she wanted. She reminded herself she was young and beautiful. She could make it. “You have asked for the nobles' trust once, and they spat in your face instead. So much ingratitude.”

She felt his hand stiffen at the mere mention of the Landsmeet. Nonetheless, he didn't pull back. Good. So he was angry enough and ready enough to be flattered at the same time. 

Morrigan rested her finger on his wrist for one brief moment before tracing the curve of his forearm, his elbow, his biceps, until she reached his neck. She looked into his eyes, catching a mesmerized look inside them. “Once, I told you looked young for a General. Remember, Loghain?” She cupped the back of his neck in her hand, approaching him one step closer. Enough to merely brush his chest with her breasts.

His only response was a raspy whisper. “I remember.”

“They want you dead, Loghain,” she mumbled, now breathing on his cheek, almost brushing her lips on his beard. “At the coronation they'll bow to your sacrifice, but behind closed doors, when the Queen can't see or hear them, they will cheer and toast to the traitor's death. Are you going to let them win?”

His hand broke free of hers, and for a moment she was afraid to have said too much, to have taken a false step. She had a sigh of relief when his hand ran along her back, pulling her closer. 

Loghain leaned into her, wispering into her ear. “No one will know, right?” he asked. His finger ventured under the hem of her top with a certain impatience. 

Morrigan curved her lips into a victorious smile. Her revenge plan was finally in motion. “You will have a chance to be acclaimed as their hero once again,” she reaffirmed, laying that dream in front of him, “and no one will know. Ever.”

Without further delay, Loghain walked backward, towards the bed, his arm around her waist. Morrigan meekly let him take the reins, allowing him to get drunk both with her skin and his desire to be once again a hero for his country. Her hands wandered over his body until they found the clasp connecting the pieces of his plate armor. When she found his skin under his gambeson, her blood sang. She didn't need Adrian. Loghain's touch, his hunger, the way he almost tore off her skirt, his quickened breath, were like a symphony to her. She didn't need anyone. Once Loghain was freed from his armor and only his undergarments stood between her and her prize, Morrigan sat astride him and closed her eyes, ready to savor her power and his gift.

* * *

As soon as Loghain reached the climax, the ravishing desire that had permeated both of them suddenly cooled down—after all, they had both gotten what they wanted. Of course, Morrigan could not be one hundred percent sure to be with child, but her young age blessed her with a considerable fertility, and the potions she had been drinking for months now made her quite confident. 

Now, the only sound in the room was the rustle of their clothes as they dressed again. The previous sense of satisfaction began to fade away, and frustration crept under her skin. Morrigan found herself craving the intimacy, the tenderness she had come to cherish so much. Adrian used to lay beside her, his shoulder next to hers, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body. As she gathered her hair in a bun once again, she could almost feel his touch on the raven locks, enjoy the way he played with them until she playfully stopped him, just to have an excuse to hold his hand. The sudden memory of their hands interlocked struck her like a punch in the stomach. 

Morrigan stood up, walking out of Loghain's room without a farewell to the Warden. 

The moment she closed the door behind her, she noticed the bard leaning against the wall, arms crossed and obviously in waiting. The mere sight of her was enough to make her feel furious. 

“So?” Leliana asked with that hideous, Orlesian accent. 

Morrigan never realized before how much she hated it. “It is done,” she curtly replied. And before the other woman could ask more, she took the nearest corridor to the estate's exit.

* * *

To the world, to anyone, the Korcari Wilds were but a lair of evil. A place where death, or imprisonment due to one of the Witches if one was lucky, were certain.

Not to Morrigan.

For her, the Wilds were the only place where she had felt sheltered and blissful. In the Wilds, a Templar was nothing but a foolish man who had set foot where he shouldn't have; a stranger, someone to supervise and, if needed, kill. In the Wilds, everything was plain and clear, black or white, no shades to disturb one's certainties. 

Morrigan gazed at her childhood's home; from upon that hill, she could see the hut in the distance. She breathed in the forest air, enjoyed the sight of the shining colors the leaves got painted with during Solace. The wind echoed the sound of her laughter as a child. 

And then, a sudden rustle brought her back to reality. She quickly turned to her right, to the brush from where the sound appeared to come. As she sounded out between the leaves, her staff tightly held, her whole body ready to run, attack or defend herself—whatever could have been necessary, Morrigan cursed her distraction. Just another consequence of the year passed with the Wardens. When all she saw was a bunny's snout, she took a relieved sigh.   
A relief that didn't last long. Morrigan realized that, since she had set foot into the Wilds, she had allowed herself to be cradled in memories and what was the worst, all the while she wasn't still sure Flemeth was dead. She would have to bury that weakness: it was something that could get her killed.

Still wary of the surroundings, Morrigan bent over, placing the backpack at her feet and searching for her flask. All of a sudden, a strong, disgusting smell reached her nose. Animal excrements, no doubt. She tried to fight the gagging rose in her stomach; she was expecting that to happen, sooner or later, but certainly not less than a week after the conception. The witch barely managed to turn around, avoiding throwing up into her bag, before her breakfast found its way out of her mouth. She closed her eyes, patiently waiting for the attack of vomiting to end. When her stomach was completely emptied, she swallowed. The taste of vomit in her mouth almost threw her body in a turmoil once again. Trembling, she drank a sip of water, hoping that it was enough to clean her mouth. 

“Homesick?”

She froze in place, completely taken aback. It couldn't be. She could not be alive. He could not have lied about that, he may be a cheating bastard but he had never left anyone at the mercy of an enemy. Or had he? Had she really been that blind? A visceral terror rua through her body, a terror heightened from the sound of Mother's deep laugh. 

“Rest assured, girl. He has not lied to you. I looked dead, beyond any reasonable doubt.”

At first, Morrigan felt relieved. At least, she had not been that fooled. At least, he was not… Once again, she cursed her own stupidity. Flemeth might have been seconds away from possessing her body, and her first thought had been Adrian. Almost stumbling, she stood up and turned to confront Mother. She widened her eyes: it was Mother, but at the same time she looked like a completely different person. Her hair, once merely left free on her shoulders, were now partly combed in four horn-like sections; a tiara adorned her forehead; her body clung to a tight leather tunic complete with a train. Even her stride was different, she now looked like a serpent hunting her prey.

Morrigan gulped, desperately trying to control her panic. “N-not another step, Mother! Or I will—“

“Or you what, girl? Do you seriously think you could be successful where your Warden has failed?” Flemeth asked, a vein of humor in her voice. “He's a special one. That's why he had to live. But you already know that, don't you?” She smirked, but nonetheless, she stopped where she was. 

“Enough with this foolish talk!” Morrigan snapped. She almost ground her teeth. “Go ahead. Try invading my body, just like you have done with all your other daughters. I will fight you until my last breath.” Flemeth was right. She had no chance to be victorious, and even if she managed to beat her she wouldn't have been sure to have gotten rid of her once and for all. Still, she had no intention to go to the slaughter without putting up a fight.

Flemeth didn't answer at all; she simply took a long look at Morrigan's belly. A glimpse of surprise enlightened her face. “ _Ferreng_ ,” she whispered. She looked into Morrigan's eyes. “You've certainly been zealous, girl.”

A sudden rage rose up in Morrigan. She was so, so tired of her mother's riddles and of her secrets. “How did you survive?” she asked, a bitter note in her voice. “You can tell me now. I don't suppose I will live to see another sunset.” 

A luscious laugh filled the air; Flemeth was laughing like she had just told her the juiciest joke in all Thedas. Then, all of a sudden, she grinned and stared right into Morrigan's eyes. “I survived the stake the Alammari tribes subjected me to. I let Conobar bleed out at my feet. I am the Mother of Vengeance. Did you seriously think I wouldn't have foreseen how my own daughter would have contrived my assassination? I worked out my own… insurance, girl.” Flemeth threw her a sharp look. “Come on. You're smarter than this. Use that brain of yours, and think. For what reason I would have written down my darkest secrets in some book, knowing that the Warden could steal it from me?”

A total confusion took over Morrigan's brain. Mother had always told her that she had had no part in the conflict between the Chasind and the Alamarri tribes. So, was that how it was? More lies? In horror, she realized she had thought to know her mother for years, but now she couldn't tell the lies from the truths. And if the grimoire was really a fraud…

“But why?” Morrigan inquired, as a deep angst pervaded her. “Why would you let anyone believe that you're a monster who… feeds on her own daughters, if it's not the truth? Why did you even want a Warden's child?”

Shaking her head, Flemeth grinned again. “I knew you would have formulated the right questions. I raised you well.” Finally, she turned her back on her. “Don't get too stressed out. It's not good for my legacy, and you will need to take care of it. For me.” Her last words resembled a roaring instead of the voice of a person. “I will come to you again, girl.”

Under Morrigan's eyes, Flemeth's features shone like the sun and turned into those of a majestic dragon. Morrigan stared at the beast, _her mother_ , in utter disbelief as she flew away, towards the horizon.


	7. Home is where you are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Archdemon is defeated, Ferelden rejoices. 
> 
> But there are still unpleasant, unspoken questions between the Wardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Len'alas lath'din": "filthy child no one loves".
> 
> "Lethallin": male clan companion/elven friend.
> 
> "Lethallan": female clan companion/elven friend.

Fort Drakon's roof had turned into a slaughterhouse. Elven, human, dwarven, and mages' corpses had piled up and painted the ground in red. That was the price that a cooperation between so many different reigns and races had required. 

Adrian stuck his daggers into the hurlock's back, and took a step back, panting. He surveyed the battlefield—the darkspawn were nearly overrun, and the Archdemon itself seemed to be exhausted. Second after second, the flicks of its tail were growing weaker and weaker, its wounds multiplied. Adrian looked at the catapults' platform, where Zevran and Leliana kept recharging the war machines, again, and again, and again. Loghain, Oghren, and Sten fought side by side, watching each other's backs, and Wynne ran around doing her best to heal the wounded. Barkspawn acted as a bodyguard for Wynne, driving away any creature that tried to her hurt while she was focused on her spells. 

And suddenly, it happened. A furious, painful roar echoed in the sky, and the mighty Archdemon lost its balance, crumbling on its side; a long, deep gash, from which dark blood squirted out, disfigured the perfect mosaic of its neck scales. Urthemiel cried again, and that cry was so full of agony that for a brief moment Adrian felt pity for the creature; after all, even the Archdemon was a victim of the magisters’ greed. The Old God Urthemiel hadn’t asked to be corrupted and turned into a monster. 

Then, all came back to him. Tamlen’s death. His own departure from the Sabrae clan. All the horrors he had witnessed in the last year: families torn apart by gruesome deaths, the exodus of the survivors, the civil war. None of that would have happened if Ferelden had been spared the Blight. To feel pity for such an enemy would be an enormous mistake. Adrian looked around, staring at the Dalish’s bodies. His brothers and sisters had died to allow him to put an end to that catastrophe, and he wouldn’t let their sacrifice be in vain. Now, all the surviving soldiers were staring at him, their weapons at the ready; they were all waiting for his command, for the command of a Dalish. But Adrian knew better. This sacred moment would have been forgotten, the harmony between the races was nothing more than the fruit of the Blight. Even this harmony would have been neglected, and in the blink of an eye the dwarves would have closed their gates, the humans would have driven the Dalish clans away, his people would have hunted any human guilty of having trespassed their boundaries. 

A damp hand entwined with his. Adrian didn’t need to turn to know who was standing by his side; during the last year he had become familiar with her touch, he could have drawn her fingers, the lines on her palm, her nails keeping his eyes shut. He looked at his and Leliana’s hands intertwined, he saw the blood staining their skin. And when their eyes locked, he was almost overcome by the urge to run away with her, to, for once, let the world take care of its problems. To forget what the years would have brought to Thedas, to live the years he had left. She was a promise of peace, serenity, life. 

And then the beast growled again. Shaking his head, Adrian let go of Leliana’s and started walking towards his destiny. Morrigan was gone and he had renounced her, but even his last refusal somehow tied him to her; the moment he had refused her ritual, he had chosen to die. 

Suddenly, Loghain Mac Tir’s imposing figure barred his way. Adrian stared at the human warrior, the Hero of River Dane, the man he had exchanged Alistair for. 

“There’s no need for you to die, Warden. I will take care of it,” Loghain declared. He stared at him with a deadly serious look in his eyes, his grip on the longsword never faltered. His voice was commanding, imposing, the voice of a man used to give orders. Not this time.

“You don’t give a damn about me, Loghain. So, what’s in it for you? One last grasp for glory? The hope that they will forgive your wicked deeds?” Adrian bitterly inquired. “You stole Alistair’s rightful place. Now you want the glory he would have deserved, too?”

Loghain remained silent, expressionless and stone-faced. For a few moments, he didn’t speak at all, but he didn’t move either. “I see. So you want the glory all for yourself. A Dalish elf who sacrifices himself for a humanity that never recognized his people’s rights. Imagine that. How fabulous.” His mouth twisted in a mocking smirk. 

A flaming anger overwhelmed Adrian. Gathering all his force, he shoved the Hero of River Dane. “How dare you to ascribe your sins to me? _Len’alas lath’din_!”

Once again Loghain didn’t get perturbed. Not even a questioning look upon those elven words. “You don’t want to be glorified, you say. Then it must be a death’s wish. If so, Warden, I suggest you take your own life in some other manner.”

Without another word, Loghain Mac Tir turned and ran towards the dying Archdemon. Too surprised to react to those words, Adrian chased him one second later. The next thing he saw was the Hero of River Dane plunging his blade into the dragon’s skull; and when a bright, powerful strike of energy threw both him and Loghain several meters apart, Adrian lost consciousness.

* * *

That flashing light again. How much time does an Archdemon need to die?

Adrian closed his eyes again, cradling himself in a comforting darkness. If he kept his eyes closed, he could ignore the muffled, unintelligible sounds around him. Voices he didn’t know, soft steps. Maybe, he was still on the battlefield and the healers were taking care of the wounded. Oddly enough, he didn’t smell blood, nor the nauseating stench of burned skin; on the contrary, the air seemed to be filled with cleanness. And the hard stone behind his back seemed softer, gentler, too. 

A gentle touch on his shoulder soothed the remaining anxiety in his mind and in his bones. Wherever he was, he was safe. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. The warm, bright light of the sun was all around him and framed Leliana’s figure. He blinked, and he saw her clearer. She was sitting at his bedside, and she was still wearing her blood-stained armor; the dark circles under her eyes revealed how little she must have slept. Nevertheless, when she looked at him she jauntily smiled and her face brightened. 

“It’s over, my love. You made it. You’re wounded, but you will recover in a couple of days,” Leliana announced. 

She really was overjoyed, unlike he had seen her before.

Adrian carefully lifted his back; it hurt only just a bit. Lowering his eyes to his chest, he noticed he was bandaged. The mere presence of that wound made the memories of the battle flash inside his head. The endless fight, the agonizing cry of the Archdemon, that blinding, white light, Loghain running towards his own death. Adrian frowned. Anora was a cruel, blighted shem, but she didn’t deserve to lose her father. 

“What’s wrong?” Leliana asked. She was obviously concerned. Adrian realized that if he had stopped Loghain, Leliana would have been the one mourning a loved one. And he also realized that he never, ever wanted to make her cry.

“It’s nothing. Just some bad memories,” he whispered, before leaning in and gently brushing his lips against hers. 

Before he could savor that refreshing touch, the door opened wide all at once. An elven servant stepped into the room, only to abruptly halt on the threshold. As the servant surveyed them, her cheeks reddened. She looked away in embarrassment. 

“I-I’m sorry, Warden,” she began. “The Queen sent me. She wishes to see both you and General Mac Tir once you have recovered. That’s all.”

When Adrian stared at her in pure amazement, the servant slowly walked backwards until she left the room for good. 

Adrian abruptly turned towards Leliana; for a moment, he could have sworn he glimpsed a guilty look in her serene eyes. 

“What haven’t you told me?” Adrian snapped. And, forgetting that Leliana had no knowledge of what price the death of the Archdemon required of a Warden, he added, “Why is he alive?”

Leliana didn’t speak at all. She just stared at him with a confused, almost scared look in her eyes. Only once, she opened her mouth to speak; but no sound came out. 

Ignoring the pain in his abdomen, Adrian stood up. He walked through the room, searching for his clothes and his armor. He had to get out of there. 

“Where are you going?” Leliana squealed. He heard her steps nearing, he felt her touch on his arm. “Please, my love, go back to bed. You need to rest. Your rib...”

Adrian rudely broke free from her grip. “Let go of me. Leave me alone,” he hissed. The bitter taste of betrayal rumbled in his blood, silencing every other sound. 

It was only when he turned that he found out he was alone with Morrigan's shadow once again. He had banned her from his life, he had refused her obscene proposal, and yet… Grunting in pain Adrian threw his bracers on the floor and limped until he reached the nearest chair. He wished he had asked her more questions instead of chasing her away out of anger and wounded pride—at least, he would have an explanation of what may have happened. He had no idea why she needed to sleep with him in order to save all the Wardens. Once again, Adrian cursed the way that woman was able to cloud his better judgment and release the worst of him. Now, she was gone, and all the answers with her. There was only one person who could reveal her secrets, now: Loghain. Unless the human had been an unwilling pawn in whatever plan Morrigan had in mind, he had to know something. Anything.

* * *

Queen Anora’s words were but a buzz in Adrian’s ears. He had no interest whatsoever in listening to whatever nonsense about gratitude, heroism, and the salvation of her country she was babbling. Dressed in the Sabrae clan’s ceremonial armor Ashalle had given him specifically for the Queen’s coronation, he waited for that tedious, hypocritical human ritual to end. He ignored Leliana and his friends, he answered in monosyllables to Ashalle as she asked him to tell her more about the year gone by. 

All he cared for was Loghain Mac Tir. 

Secretly, despite having offered to deliver the final blow, Adrian had hoped for the seasoned General to perish in Fort Drakon’s battle. It would have been right. It would have been some sort of compensation for his dark deeds and for Alistair’s miserable faith. He was alive, unharmed, and about to be named a hero instead.

Adrian Mahariel couldn’t stop staring at the Hero of River Dane, now to be the acknowledged slayer of the Archdemon and the savior of Ferelden. 

He was completely aware of the nobles’ puzzled looks and the concern on his friends’ faces. And yet he ignored them all. Let them think that the Warden had gone mad due to the final, draining fight. As for his companions, he had no intention to disclose his thoughts, nor he was allowed to. Riordan had been crystal clear: Wardens’ secrets must not be spoken of.

“Da’len?” 

Adrian turned, facing Ashalle. The sight of her eyes full of worry moved something inside him. Ashalle had been like the mother and father he never had a chance to meet, the first person to care for him. No, she didn’t deserve to be shut away, kept behind the wall of silence he had constructed around himself. And yet, he had no choice. Apart from the secrecy he had been forced to, even Ashalle wouldn’t have understood. 

“They’re staring, da’len. They’re looking at you as if you were a madman instead of their hero,” Ashalle whispered in his ear. “This is the day when the Dalish get recognition in front of the whole world. It should be reason enough to cheer up and hold your head up high.”

“As you say, guardian,” Adrian curtly replied. 

“You do know you can tell me anything, right? I know what you’ve been through. I know what we have been through. And I would have loved you the same if your parents been there to raise you.” 

The concern and the tenderness of his guardian’s words somehow broke through his self-imposed shield. Ashalle meant well. She was the only person he could indisputably trust. The urge to share all his troubles with her almost won him overuntil he looked at Loghain again. That deep-rooted anger took over him once more.

“I know, guardian. I do,” Adrian flatly assured her. 

He heard the elven woman sigh, he heard her leaving. 

He was alone. 

In that moment, Queen Anora’s voice silenced the whole hall.

“And now, my Lords and Ladies, it is with great pleasure that I announce to you the saviors of Ferelden. Loghain Mac Tir, the Hero of the River Dane and the man who has slain the Archdemon, and the Dalish hunter Adrian Mahariel, who built an army powerful enough to beat its minions back to where they had come from.” Queen Anora surveyed those present, fixing her gaze upon him and Loghain. “Step forward, please.”

Adrian stared back at the Queen without faltering. He saw her smile brighten when she looked at her father, and despite his disgust for both the shemlen, part of him felt relieved that, at least, she didn’t have to mourn her father. Nonetheless, when she turned towards him something in her expression changed. It became colder, unnatural, stiltedit was a small, almost indiscernible variation, but he had seen her enough of her duplicity to spot it.

When both he and Loghain went up the stairs leading to the throne’s platform, the Queen extended her arm, pointing at them both. 

“Twenty-nine years ago, Loghain Mac Tir commanded Ferelden’s army and freed our country from Orlais’ clutches. This year, he has contributed to eliminate an utterly different, but, all the same, menacing threat.” Queen Anora paused. “He has tripped a few times before taking the right road, but in the end, he has stuck his sword right where it was needed.” The volume of her voice grew, turning almost into an enthusiastic cry. “Right into the Archdemon’s skull!”

Adrian remained silent as a thunderous applause filled the throne room. To say that Loghain had ‘tripped a few times’ was, to say the least, a huge understatement. Sadly, he himself had chosen her as Queen during the Landsmeet. He had made her a monarch and thus had given her the power to write history as she wished.

“Before the Blight, Adrian Mahariel was no one. Just an anonymous Dalish elf. But the Blight has turned his world around and made him a hero. Once my father’s enemy, Adrian Mahariel turned the tables and an enemy into an ally and a brother. We owe a Dalish the army that has destroyed the darkspawn horde.”

Anora turned towards her audience, her subjects. 

“We owe them both our lives. So, by royal decree, a statue of my father will be erected to celebrate his heroic deeds. As for Adrian Mahariel, he is guaranteed the right to ask for whatever boon he wishes for. It is the least I, as Fereldan Queen, can offer him.”

Adrian replied to the Queen’s smile with a stone face. She hadn’t mentioned at all how that army had been composed of four different races, how even the mages had proven their worth. And she knew damn well that, out of pride, he wouldn’t have asked for something meaningful or scandalous enough to hinder her. Her smile stiffened. In her eyes, Adrian read an implicit menaceshe was warning him to not defy her, like he had done at the Landsmeet. 

Anything, she had said. Well, for once, he would take her up on her generous offer.

“Your Majesty,” Adrian began, “in consideration of the Dalish’s contribution to our grand victory, I deem it only appropriate that my people are given their own land, a place where they have the right to not be harassed or driven away by anyone. We deserve it. The dwarves have Orzammar, the mages have their Circles, Arl Eamon’s soldier have their land.”

Adrian saw the jolt in Queen Anora’s eyes. Accepting his request meant giving the Dalish an amount of credit and reliability they had never been granted before. Perhaps, in the future, it could mean questioning the Alienage’s existence, too. And yet, she couldn’t refuse. 

“So be it, Warden. The Crown hereby grants the Dalish elves the Hinterlands, including Ostagar, to occupy and administer as they will wish to,” the Queen declared. She briefly smiled at the Dalish Hero, a smile of convenience. “And now, let’s celebrate Ferelden’s victory!”

As soon as Queen Anora turned her back on her audience, Adrian didn’t lose time—he made for Loghain. 

The two man bumped into each other when Adrian was going down the stairs heading away from the throne’s platform. They regarded each other in silence and suspiciously for a couple of seconds. 

“I’d say I have the right to go and congratulate my daughter, Warden,” Loghain flatly said, “before I leave and start traveling as a recruiter.” He stood, then, obviously waiting for Adrian to get out of the way. His icy stare regarded him coldly.

“How can you be alive?” Adrian questioned him, completely ignoring his words. Only after the last word had left his mouth did he realize that he had practically growled in Loghain’s face. A sparkle of common sense told him that it wasn’t nor the right time of place for that kind of conversation, but he couldn’t shush the instincts and his overwhelming urge. All he could see was the man in front of him and Morrigan’s eyes. “Does Morrigan have something to do with you being here alive, unharmed and triumphant?”

“Adrian. Please stop. You will enrage the Queen,” someone pleaded in a whisper.

It took him a certain struggle to recognize that voice. And when he did, he felt immediately guilty. Leliana. Of course it was her. The gentle, loving Leliana, the woman who was actually there for him and, sensing how tense the situation was, had rushed to his aid to help him not get on a powerful woman’s bad side. For the first time since he had found out Loghain was alive, Adrian felt something similar to warming tenderness. He needed those answers nonetheless, as much as he needed to put Morrigan behind him. Leliana might not have been aware of that, but he was doing it for her, too. 

“You’re right,” Adrian murmured, brushing a finger against her cheek, “but I need to know. All I want is an answer. It’s up to Loghain to provide it.”

“I have no answer to give you, Warden. I’m in the dark as much as you are,” Loghain snapped. He took one step towards Adrian, his gaze darkened. He spoke in a menacing whisper. “But know this. You won’t ruin my daughter’s coronation with some conspiracy theory. Shut your filthy mouth.”

Too many times Adrian had been called a ‘filthy elf’. Too many times shems had tried to boss him around. Now, a pompous man who owed him his life dared to threaten him and to lie to him. Adrian barely resisted the urge to grab the hilt of his daggers, but not to violently shove Loghain. The weight of his armor and his muscular structure prevented him from falling back, but he didn’t care. “I had enough of your lies,” he cried, “speak, or I swear I...”

“Whatever it’s going on, I demand that you stop it. Now.”

The commanding voice of the newly appointed Queen silenced both him and the whispering the two heroes’ clash had originated. 

Now, the whole throne room was staring at them, no doubt wondering why the two heroes were fighting during such a joyful occasion. 

Ignoring Anora’s furious gaze, Leliana’s regret, and his friends’ concerned looks, Adrian stormed out of the throne room. He couldn’t take any of it anymore.

* * *

On his way to his room, Adrian had bumped into more than one servant, without even apologizing. He simply didn’t care. He needed to get away, to shut everyone, anyone out—and his only chance was to seek refuge where no one would disturb him. 

Once inside, he frantically began to unclasp his ceremonial armor, throwing the pieces on the floor. That armor was the symbol of his legacy, of the blood running in his veins. But that same blood had been changed, tainted when he had drunk from the Joining cup. Tracing the halla engraved upon the gauntlet with trembling hands, he admitted the ugly truth. As much as he missed his lethallin and lethallan, he didn’t belong with them anymore; at the same time, he was alone and forced to call brother and sister people he had never met before. He was trapped with the Wardens for whatever was left of his life. And even if he was free to live in whatever way he could see fit, he would be trapped by a human woman’s enslavement. In a fit of rage, Adrian threw the gauntlet against the wall.

Next thing he knew, a pair of arms surrounded him from behind, clean, scented hair tickled his neck, soft breasts caressed his back. He clung to Leliana’s hands as if she was his only anchor in the whole world.

“Shh. Hush. It’s all right,” Leliana gently whispered in his ear. 

Adrian basked in her comforting embrace. He chose to believe her. Now she was there, and everything was alright. There was a guiding light in the darkness around him. And it was her. 

“I’m here for you, my love. And I will always be…” she hesitated, “as long as you will want me by your side.”

He felt her tense a bit, as if she was afraid to be pushed away. Sighing, Adrian closed his eyes and turned, holding her close in his arms. He didn’t want to let her go, he didn’t want her to leave. Cradled in that embrace, he finally understood. Leliana was the one who had chosen to remain by his side. She had not abandoned him the night before the battle, she had never rejected him, she had never lied to him, she had never toyed with his feelings. And now, she had done the only thing that could have calmed him down—she had asked no questions, she had just held him to her heart without asking anything in return. 

Adrian planted a kiss on her ginger hair, near her earlobe. “Stay,” he murmured. 

He stared right into Leliana’s beautiful, blue, eyes, damp with tears. Caressing her cheeks tenderly, he dried the single tear rolling on her skin with his lips. Slowly his mouth found hers. At first, only the angle of her lips; then the fullness of them. He pressed his lips against hers tenderly, lovingly, without any rush. His hands ran along her arms, finally cupping her waist. As he felt her responding to his touch, her fingers exploring his back, he deepened the kiss and tightened the grip on her hips. Her perfume, her skin, the sound of her voice were more intoxicating than ever, and he found himself wanting much more, desiring to feel her body with his. When he drove her towards the nearest wall, she didn’t resist. It was as if he had wandered in the desert for all that time, with nothing to drink. Now, in her arms, he could drink again, he could survive. He unlaced her silk dress, and when her legs wrapped around his waist the entanglement of their bodies felt perfect. Without a flaw.


	8. Hopelessly devoted to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian and Leliana find shelter in each other.   
> One month after the Fifth Blight's end they travel to Kul-Baras thaig at the orders of Queen Anora. 
> 
> However, guilt won't let go of Leliana so easily...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to whoever is following the story! A special thank you to FF user _redrosemary_ and my amazing beta _millelibri_.
> 
> This chapter will mention Kul-Baras thaig. Who has read The Calling and The Stolen Throne will be familiar with the concept already.  
> Kul-Baras is the thaig used by the Architect as its headquarters by 9:10 Dragon. Several characters (such as Maric, Loghain, Fiona) have been there years and years before the Blight. A couple of unpleasant things happened there. This information serves only as a brief "guide" to whoever should have no idea what Kul-Baras is. You will find out the rest reading the story, I promise :)

Leliana had lain awake all night. 

The Maker knew how desperately she needed to rest. They had, after all, battled an Archdemon and his numerous minions. They had barely survived—at least one of them. Adrian. Despite how much she felt tired, she hadn't been able to bring herself to close her eyes. The warmth of his embrace, his head resting on her breasts, the way he had never broken the contact between their bodies during the whole night. The serenity on his face. She had waited for so long to bask in that kind of nearness, that now all she wanted to do was enjoy it. Part of her was afraid that if she had closed her eyes, he would have disappeared, gone away, forsaken her, run after the Witch once again.

The memory of Adrian and Loghain's confrontation and the conversation between Adrian and the Witch she had eavesdropped on were still unpleasantly fresh in her mind. Leliana felt a pang of guilt at the thought of what she had been ready to do to Adrian. She didn't like the idea to keep him in the dark, to look him in the eyes and never tell him that she was aware of the Grey Wardens’ biggest secret. But if she revealed the truth to him, he could ask her if she knew something, anything about Loghain's mysterious survival; and while caressing her man's well-built shoulder, Leliana found out she wasn't willing to lie to him, nor to risk losing him. For so, so much time she had felt like she was simply sitting around and waiting for him, clouded by an unknown shadow. So many times her head had told her to walk away, to let him go, or, at least, to ask him for something more. But her heart had always been the stronger voice. There had never been any other choice than hold on to the end. And now that he seemed to have accepted her love, a lie was really a small price to pay in exchange for the happiness she had pursued. After all, a lie is not really a lie until it’s spelled out, is it? Leliana shivered. That was something Marjolaine used to say. Which meant it was something wrong. If it really was wrong it meant that she was morally obligated to—

Adrian's lips brushing on her neck silenced all those thoughts.   
Closing her eyes, Leliana let his touch banish any bad feeling lurking in the shadows of her mind and silence that tiny voice urging her to be totally straightforward. All she chose to listen to was Adrian’s breath on her skin, the way he was holding her in his arms, how he was calm and peaceful for the first time in months. She was offering him peace, and she wouldn’t have taken that away from him. He had earned it. She closed her eyes when he moved a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“I don’t believe I ever thanked you.”

All the times Leliana had sung about star-crossed lovers finally reunited, she had never actually understood how much seemingly pompous, emotional words could weigh. Now, she did. Hearing Adrian thanking her meant she was really offering him something precious. Leliana softly moved away from his embrace, only to lie on her side and put her arms around his neck. She felt his arm around her waist pulling her nearer. 

Leliana stared right into his chestnut eyes. Something was different, something had changed. There was a serious glimpse into them, and for the first time, he was focused on her and only her. She began, “You don’t need to thank me. I haven’t done anything special, only what―”

Adrian tenderly pressed a finger to her lips. “I need to. It’s the least I can do, Leli. These last months I’ve been unmanageable. I...” he hesitated. For a swift second, he looked away, thinning his lips in a line. “...you know I never wanted to be a hero, and how much I hate politics and treachery. The more I had to dwell on it, the more I missed my old life, my old… me. The mere sight of our companions reminded me what I had lost. But you...” Adrian kissed her on her forehead, so tenderly that she felt the most precious being in the whole world “...you didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. You could easily have chosen to leave me in my misery, and yet here you are by my side, despite all the hurt I caused you. I pushed you away, but you never relented. Will you forgive me, ma vhenan?” As he pronounced those final words, he traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. The uncertainty was in his voice, in his trembling touch, in the way his grip around her waist weakened. As if he was ready to let her go and leave, should she express the wish to never see him again. 

Her heart pounding fast, afraid to have to watch him go away out of guilt, Leliana grabbed his free hand tight. She was his beacon in the dark, and she wouldn’t abandon him. And those two words were everything she had always dreamed of hearing. Suddenly, whatever might have happened before, whatever he might have done to hurt her didn’t matter anymore. “There’s nothing to forgive, my love,” Leliana whispered. 

To her surprise, though, Adrian tightened his jaw and his grip on her hand intensified. His gaze turned into the one of a desperate man. “There is. Please, I need your forgiveness. To never, ever look back and be sure to focus on our life together, I need to hear you say those words.”

Leliana stared at him in confusion. What could drive him to despise his past so much? But she knew better than press him into talking about something he wasn’t willing to spell out. And really, he wasn’t asking for anything she wasn’t ready to offer him. She had forgiven him already. “If it matters so much, you have my forgiveness, then,” she softly declared. 

Only then, his facial features relaxed. Adrian smiled in relief, and his embrace tightened once again. “We have a whole life ahead of us, to do as we like, ma vhenan. What’s your wish?”

She’d rather have waited a couple of days before bringing duty in the picture once again—but now that he had asked, it wasn’t an option anymore. “Well,” Leliana began, “actually, before being free to pursue a life with you, there’s something I need to take care of. The Queen has ordered me to lead a research in the Deep Roads to find out more about the Broodmothers and...” She stopped talking and watched in discomfort as the mere mention of the Queen cast a shadow on his face. The solution appeared clear in her mind. She was allowed to recruit whoever she needed for that mission, so… “...why don’t you come with me? I’d miss you so much if we separated, and in addition, if I’m to deal with Darkspawn I could use the help of the Hero of Ferelden.”

At first, Adrian remained silent, thoughtful. She could read his thoughts as if she was right in his head; he despised the Queen, but he was also a Warden, and if he had to hunt down Darkspawn he would rather do it with her, by his side. 

“Fine. I will be part of your expedition,” he finally agreed. There was no reluctance in his voice, which had to mean he was satisfied with his decision.

Leliana lit up. Everything was going more smoothly than she had ever dared to hope for. “I’m glad,” she whispered. And as she leaned to kiss him, while caressing his chest, she added, “We have a whole month before we have to leave. In other words, a whole month to enjoy the comfort of this bed.”

**_Dragon 9:31, August_**

The Pilgrim’s Path looked nothing different from any forest track Leliana had trodden before. Simply put, it was just like any narrow road leading through the Wending Wood; and yet it was the road connecting Denerim, the birthplace of Andraste, and Amaranthine, the city where the Chant of Light had been revealed to every race of Thedas. Leliana had read Brother Bedine’s essay during her stay in the Chantry of Lothering. 

“You must be thrilled. We never had the chance to take this travel through the Pilgrim’s Path, and now, I suppose, you plan to thank the Maker for having freed us from the Darkspawn once we reach Amaranthine,” Adrian said, breaking her flow of thoughts. He was riding by her side, they were guiding the group—as they were going to enter the Deep Roads, Oghren and Shale had offered to accompany them, along with the soldiers the Queen had provided as escort.

Leliana noted how he seemed much more peaceful, now that they had left the Royal Palace—but she also didn’t miss how flat his tone was. Sometimes she wished he could share her faith, even though she knew that the Evanuris was the last link he had left to his people. If only he could understand how much the Maker’s light was soothing… but it wasn’t the time, nor the place, to start such a discussion. 

“I’m sorry, Leliana,” Adrian suddenly stated, turning towards her. His expression had sweetened, too. “I can’t share your faith, but I should never forget how important it is for you.”

Leliana smiled, hoping to reassure him with that simple gesture. Ever since that morning, he had been so gentle and careful, much more than she ever remembered. 

“You’re forgiven,” she simply replied. She looked around. They hadn’t met a single traveler since they had entered the forest, a circumstance that worried her. Could she be the only Andrastian wishing to thank the Maker’s bride?

Out of the Blue, Adrian stiffened in the saddle. And one moment later, he gave the alarm. “Darkspawn coming! At arms!”. Despite refusing the role of the Hero, he was still as commanding as he had been during the Blight. The moment they heard him, all men unsheathed their swords and got their bows ready. Adrian left his horse in the care of a squire, one dagger in each hand, and quickly disappeared into the nearest shadow.

And then it was battle. A small group of Darkspawn appeared from the bushes, snarling at the humans; their armor was damaged, their weapons were rusted, but they still were the monster who had almost managed to capture Denerim. The royal soldiers charged, the archers aimed at their targets. The wood filled with battle sounds. 

Leliana noticed a genlock running towards her, ready to attack her from the side. But she was ready, too. She drew the bow, keeping her eyes on the genlock, rotating her bust lightly to follow its movements with her arrow. Before the beast could come near enough to her, Leliana shot. The genlock looked at its shoulder and the arrow tucked into it almost with surprise. One moment later, it gurgled as Adrian’s daggers slit its throat. 

The brief smile she was exchanging with Adrian turned into surprise as an arrow hissed through the air and pierced the last remaining Darkspawn’s head. Leliana, Adrian, and all the soldiers turned, finding themselves to face a female elven archer wearing the emblem of the Grey Wardens on her leather armor. Behind her, a group of Wardens. Her bow was drawn, as well as the one of her allies. 

Leliana stared at the elven woman, dropping her weapon and examining her figure. Her hair was short and black, she wasn’t that tall nor what an Orlesian would have defined as graceful, still, her steps were swift and, judging from her firm grip on the bow and the way she had killed that Darkspawn, she could be a tough, lethal opponent. 

“I am Tamarel, Ferelden Commander of the Grey and Arlessa of Amaranthine. You are stepping into Wardens’ territory. Who are you?” she promptly asked. No. Not asked. Her voice cracked like a whip. She demanded an answer. 

While Adrian signaled the men to sheathe their weapons back, Leliana quietly answered. “I am Leliana and this is Adrian Mahariel of the Sabrae clan,” she paused for a second to take a look at Tamarel’s face, to check if the name rang a bell, “the Hero of Ferelden. We have been sent on a mission by Queen Anora Theirin.”

Commander Tamarel quickly turned to look at Adrian. A glimpse of both envy and respect painted her face. Yes, she was the Commander, but she was also a city-elf, if the absence of vallaslin was any indication, and Adrian was the Hero. She lowered her bow. “So you’re the ones the Queen’s letter notified me about,” she stated. She didn’t wait for any confirmation. “We shouldn’t linger here. The Blight might be—is over, but not every single one of those monsters has crawled back to the Deep Roads.” She waved at a tall, dark-skinned human by her side. “The Warden-Constable will make sure that no one ambushes us. Follow me. We’ll escort you to Vigil’s Keep.”

* * *

Passing through Amaranthine caused Leliana a lot of suffering. Amaranthine was living proof of how much the Blight had polluted Ferelden—the citizens were still burying their dead, and every hint of laughter, except the ones of children, was suppressed and banished. Several buildings needed to be reconstructed, and only a couple of days ago ships had started to leave for the Free Marches, or Antiva, again. The only unshakable stronghold was Vigil’s Keep. 

When they finally set foot in the Keep, Leliana thanked the Maker. She was more than willing to help Amaranthine and its people, but she wasn’t sure she could have endured the sight of that misery for much longer. Not so early after the horrors of the Blight. 

Commander Tamarel spent more than an hour rummaging through the Wardens’ maps, she grunted and swore a few times, but when the library’s table was filled with paper even she had to surrender. Shaking her head, the Commander sighed and laid her hands on the table’s border. 

“I’m afraid the Wardens of Amaranthine can’t be of help. I have no map of the thaig of Kul-Baras at my disposal. Not of its entrance from the West Hills, nor to its position travelling from Ortan Thaig,” she admitted. Annoyance and displeasure were clearly written on her face, she was clearly disturbed by being useless to their mission. 

“The Queen told us that the Wardens organized more than one expedition to Kul-Baras while King Maric was still living. How can there be no map?” Leliana inquired. 

The Commander shot her a cold look, staring right in her face with her clear, icy eyes. “I never said there’s no map. I just said we don’t have one here at Amaranthine, Leliana,” she clarified. “I’m sure you understand how the fact that Enchanter Remille had allied himself with a Darkspawn, and how Commander Genevieve almost got the King killed, shocked the whole Ferelden nobility. Due to the sensitivity of the matter, any kind of intervention has been taken into Weisshaupt’s hands. So, unless you wish to travel to the Anderfels, you better hope that King Harrowmont can help you.” The Commander shrugged. “Otherwise, you could try contacting Enchanter Fiona. She and Duncan were the only Wardens who made out of that blighted trap alive.“

Leliana cast a look at Adrian. True to his own desire to let her lead, he hadn’t said a word since they had arrived in the city. Still, he kept on studying the Commander, as if he was trying to decipher her. The moment she named Duncan, Adrian flinched. 

“Did you know him? Duncan?” Adrian asked.

For a split second, something broke the icy mirror the eyes of the Commander were. Leliana clearly saw sorrow and a deep, deep pain. “I was with him when he decided to begin searching for people worthy of being conscripted. We traveled to Cousland Castle, to the Alienage of Denerim, and to Orzammar. One day, he ordered me to cross the Ferelden border and reach Orlais. The Wardens, he said, had to be warned, to get ready, because he had seen the Blight coming.” She pressed her hands against the wood so hard that her knuckles turned white. Her voiced turned into a whisper. “He saved my life, and I never got to thank him. I should have. I used to think he had trapped me into a lifelong servitude, that I had traded the Alienage for just another slavery. I was so, so wrong. He had given me I purpose instead, and I never thanked him.”

For the second time in her life, Leliana felt the third wheel. Adrian and the Commander had something in common she would never share with him, unless she chose to drink from the Joining cup. 

“I suppose it’s one way to...” Adrian began, stopping talking almost immediately. He took a few steps towards the door. “With your permission, Commander, we would like to have some rest. We’ll be leaving at dawn tomorrow.”

Commander Tamarel stood straight once again. She was once again the icy leader they had come to know. “Sure, Warden Mahariel. The attendant will show you your rooms.”

Adrian nodded, turning her back on her. Leliana hesitated. Her compassionate nature told that the Commander may need someone to talk to—but if she was anything like Adrian, and it seemed so, she wasn’t one prone to talk to the first stranger she met either. Sighing, she began to follow Adrian.

“Wait,” the Commander called, walking towards them. “I might have something to help you with, after all. Some time before the Blight, Enchanter Fiona was traveling with some Wardens. A Warden-Recruit asked her about the events of Kul-Baras, and she was kind enough to tell him the tale. She briefly described him the route she, Commander Genevieve, King Maric, and the other Wardens had taken. Luckily, he sent me a report about that interesting chat. A report I’m pretty sure I kept. I’ll have it delivered to you tomorrow morning.”

Commander Tamarel walked out the door, giving them one last look. “Good night to you both. And good luck.”

* * *

That night, Leliana walked into the Amaranthine Chantry. She looked at the shattered window panes, the blood stains still on the floor, but to her the Maker’s shining light was stronger than everything else. 

She knelt in front of the altar, joining her hands in prayer. 

“I know I’ve no right to ask for anything. But oh Maker, be merciful. Don’t punish him as a penance for my lies and for my wickedness. He doesn’t deserve it. I do.”

Leliana waited for a sign for seconds, for minutes. All she heard was silence. When it was clear to her that the Maker wasn’t going to send her another vision, she broke into sobs.


	9. I will not bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan is on the run. All she can do is escaping Mother's clutches, until she meets a very peculiar woman.   
> After all, she won't bow so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And for this chapter... suprise! A special guest star :)
> 
> Before I leave you to the chapter, allow me to thank you readers for your attention! A special thanks goes to alyssacousland and Clover1995. Reviews and concrits are _always_ welcome. I'm not afraid of critiques: in fact, I think they're what make a writer an even better one :)

**_Dragon 9:31, August_ **

Mother's grin widened as her hand neared her chest, her heart. Her breath quickened, she looked around like a caged animal. All around her the hut's walls encircled her. More, and more, and more. A guttural growl echoed. She turned towards the source of the sound. Mother's teeth were those of a dragon, and her hand had turned into a claw. When her chest was torn open, she cried in agony. 

Morrigan opened her eyes wide in the dark. She breathed heavily, grasping her chest convulsively, and sighed in relief. Her skin was intact, she wasn't bleeding out, but most importantly Mother wasn't there. She cleansed her sweating forehead with a rag, still trembling, but sighed in relief nonetheless.

And at last, Morrigan remembered. She was travelling on the _Seabear_ , the first passenger ship to be put back into service after the Blight. The most part of the money that she, Adrian, and their companions had gained had been used to equip the armies for the final battle against the Archdemon, but thankfully she had saved enough to pay for a single cabin. And now she was sailing towards the Free Marches. Not that it mattered where the _Seabear_ was headed to. All Morrigan wanted was to get away from Ferelden, and to tell the truth she would have passed the rest of her life on a ship, where Mother couldn’t reach her－on land, she was a prey easy to reach and trap, on a ship though she was far more difficult to track down, and unless Mother had decided to dragon-jump on said ship, an unlikely circumstance, she was far safer. 

If only she didn’t hate ships so much.  
If only that nausea stopped bothering her.  
If only she wasn’t responsible for something more than her own life. 

The Witch of the Wilds grabbed Flemeth’s grimoire, throwing it at the cabin’s door in anger. The blasted thing was useless, she could just as well drop it in the ocean. And yet, it was the only link between her past and her present.

Only a few months ago, she was a Witch of the Wilds ready to collect an Old God’s soul, ready to get out of it whatever Mother wanted to—she was a companion of the Hero of Ferelden, a woman who could easily have been celebrated as someone who had contributed to the Archdemon’s defeat. Now, she was nothing more than a poor wretch on the run from her own mother, pregnant with a child she had no idea what to do with, bearing an unhealthy obsession with a man she herself had driven away. No one could protect her anymore, no one was willing to. What she thought was home had turned into a trap, the woman she considered her mother and the only person worthy of a certain degree of trust, had become her most dangerous enemy. As for her _friends_... she never had friends in the first place. The people one uses to get to something else are not friends. All she had left was herself, constant nausea that would eventually turn into a now unwanted child, and a life on the run, either on a ship or on land.

Morrigan hated that constant nausea, the omnipresent smell of salt and fish, even the creaking of the wood when the wind howled. She extracted her golden mirror from her bag, examining herself in the magical light she conjured without effort. Her hair, once as shiny as a crow’s wing, dutifully taken care of and combed into a tidy bun, was dirty and fell on her shoulders in chaotic locks. Once, she was more than comfortable in her body—now, even though her pregnancy wasn’t obvious yet, she felt swollen and heavy. 

The cabin suddenly seemed too small for her liking. The salty air of the sea was awful, but it was still better than suffocating. Morrigan quickly dressed up. If she wasn’t able to fall back asleep, she could as well pass the night on the deck. Not without an infusion soothing her stomach, though.

She quietly left the cabin, heading towards the passenger cargo compartment. She had left almost nothing in that cargo compartment, except for her herbs—something not nearly precious enough to tempt someone to steal them. While cautiously following the corridor on which the passenger cabins’ doors opened, laying a hand on the wooden door whenever the wind made the ship swing, for the millionth time Morrigan heard muffled speech coming from the cabin next to hers. She had seen the couple occupying it; a dark-skinned woman whose revealing, bright outfit had called for unwanted attention more than once and a tan, middle-aged man armed with multiple daggers. They had said to be husband and wife, but in their demeanor there was nothing of the tenderness she had come to witness during the last year. To experience, a thin voice whispered in her mind. Morrigan angrily shook her head, as if that mere gesture could banish the thought of him. He was in the past, he didn’t count anymore. 

When a particularly strong gust hit the ship, Morrigan stumbled, crashing her shoulder against the door of the couple’s cabin. The sound of glass shattering on the floor and a female voice cursing came clear through the door. Aching, the Witch leaned against the door, waiting for the pain to fade away. While she stood there, the middle-aged man harshly addressed the woman.

“Look at that, stupid cow! Your blasted wine ruined the safe-conduct Castillon gave us. You’re really good for one thing only. You bribed Castillon into sparing your life by opening your legs, didn’t you?”

At first, Morrigan was annoyed to no end.Not another conjugal quarrel, please. One moment later, though, she realized something. Those two didn’t look like a couple at all. Which could mean—

“Shut it, Cruz. We will find the fucking tome, I will repay the slaves’ loss, and we won’t be stuck with each other anymore. Who knows, if the Orlesians will be grateful enough we could even get something more out of it,” the woman replied. 

Morrigan slowly moved away from the door, keeping herself near enough to eavesdrop. So there was something more about those two. And all that talk about Orlais… she needed a safe place. Protection. Would the Orlesians be interested in whatever the couple was plotting? Could it be enough for her to start a new, different life? Of one thing, she was sure. The man’s accent was an Antivan one. She had heard it enough times to recognize it without a doubt.

The man let out a wry laugh. “You better hope you’re right. Because if we fail to steal the book, unless you wish to find that Dalish relic that Crow Dix loves to brag about, or the Eluvians themselves, and try to placate Castillon with it, we’re both luncheon for sharks, whore. And since you’re the last person I want to kick the bucket with, if we fail I’m going to kill you. Of course, not without having you open your legs for me first.”

Morrigan distinctly heard both the lasciviousness and the coldness in the man’s voice. He actually meant it. Once again, the deviousness of the people outside the Wilds made her sick. Sadly, though, she had to get used to it. The Wilds were not home anymore. Lost in her thoughts, Morrigan wasn’t prepared for the woman’s reaction—the sound of daggers unsheathed, a sound she had heard so many times, had become familiar enough to her to recognize it without any doubt. And that term: Eluvian. She knew it. Even Mother couldn’t follow her into an Eluvian.

“Name my pussy once again, call me whore once again, Cruz, and I swear I’ll gut you right there. I can find the damned relic by myself,” the woman stated. 

She seemed damn serious, too. 

Morrigan began to regret having meddled with whatever business those two were conducting. If there was to be an assassination, there would be questions. And if someone saw her standing by the door, she could end up involved. She took a step backward, slowly enough to not be discovered.

“Now now. Behave, whore. Be careful to not turn me on, or—“

The door opened wide. The man, Cruz, had fallen against it with all his weight. One dagger was stuck in his shoulder, and the dark skinned woman towered over him, ready to finish him off. Then, they both turned towards her. Morrigan saw an icy resolve in the woman’s dark eyes, and also how she was ready to rotate her wrist and, if needed, eliminate the witness she had turned into. 

However, fate decided for them both. In that exact moment, the ship rolled, causing the dark-skinned woman to lose her balance and fall against the man, who promptly took her dagger from her hands. Morrigan also crumbled, far enough to not be dragged into the brawl. The man was seconds away from killing his traveling companion. Also, in a matter of seconds, some of the passengers could decide that, after all, those sounds were something different than the wind throwing something on the ground. If the dark-skinned woman died, Morrigan would never have the opportunity to find out what she really knew about the Eluvians. If someone else found out what was actually happening, the whole matter would be taken into the crew’s hands. 

Morrigan took her decision. She quickly sent the man into a magical sleep and crawled towards the woman. “Get his feet. I’ll push his shoulders. We have to bring him inside.” She gestured to the cabin, already moving to do her part. 

The other woman eyed her for a brief second. There was a glint of suspicion in her eyes, but as soon as she heard the wood of the stairs creak due to nearing steps she quickly complied with Morrigan’s request. In a matter of moments, the two ladies managed to drag the sleeping brute into the cabin. Just in time to avoid being caught, considering how near the sailors’ voices seemed. 

Morrigan stood near the door, watching her temporary ally tying her partner-in-crime up. The cabin’s lights now revealed a woman in her youth, whose eyes were harsh already. The Witch used those precious seconds to try figuring out what could be the best approach to get something out of the woman. Blackmailing her wasn’t smart, considering how she had overpowered her opponent. So—

“You could have left me to die, but you helped me instead,” the dark-skinned woman began. She stood, staring at Morrigan without any kind of fear. “Since I don’t believe in fairy-tales like benevolent benefactors, you either want something from me or...” she took a few steps, still seizing the knife “...he sent you as Cruz’s backup, to make sure I was obeying the orders.”

The Witch of the Wilds stared back at her. During her year with the Warden, she had learned that people are normally grateful when their life is saved. So had to be this woman. “You are correct, I saved you. I want something in return.”

To her surprise, her interlocutor thrust the knife into her boot. While her expression relaxed slightly, the woman answered, “Reasonable enough. And to tell you the truth,” she pressed her foot on the tied man’s mouth, “I’ve wanted to beat the crap out of him for a long time. So, yes, you are welcome.” She turned towards Morrigan. “You can call me Isabela. Some call me the Queen of the Eastern Seas, if you prefer.” Isabela grinned, obviously amused. 

Morrigan twitched her mouth in a sneer. This Isabela was indeed a weird human specimen. Not knowing what kind of person she was talking to made her nervous, so she decided to keep the conversation as short as possible. “I want to know more of that relic Cruz talked about. Is it really connected to an Eluvian?” Morrigan hesitated just a second. “Do you know where it is?”

Isabela didn’t bother to hide the surprise all over her face. Now, Morrigan noticed, she was carefully surveying her, almost looking for clues. Behind that pompous introduction, there was definitely a working brain. “You know about the Eluvians. You’re dressed like a poor sod, but that’s no common knowledge. There’s more to you than meets the eye. Who are you?”

Following her instinct, Morrigan held a hand up and called for her magic, keeping it ready to be used. Just in case. “That’s not a concern of yours. Are you going to repay me or not?” she snapped. 

Isabela burst into a brief laugh. “Now, now. There’s no need to be so defensive!” she exclaimed, smiling again. She took a seat, beginning to speak again shortly after. “I know an Antivan Crow, Dix, who claims to come from the Dalish Clan Evune, and that his clan had been chosen to keep an ancient relic safe. According to Dix, his former Keeper, Yevven, had knowledge of the Eluvians, those magic, forgotten portals.” She paused, studying her once again. “When Dix joined the Crows, the Clan Evune was still in Antiva, but it was planning to travel south. Towards Kirkwall.” Isabela crossed her legs. “I can’t guarantee any of this is true. Dix tends to get too big, and would say anything to jump on the stage.”

Morrigan listened intently. If only half of that was true, she had a chance to keep herself safe from Mother. A quick doubt crossed her mind. What if Isabela was lying? Figuring out that woman was impossible. Ruthless and humorous at the same time, clever and joking. As a result, there was no telling whether Isabela could be trusted or not. That knowledge would have had to do. “I will make good use of this information,” Morrigan declared, holding the door handle. 

“Wait,” Isabela called, standing. “It’s clear that you’ve heard pretty much everything Cruz and I were saying. Anyone else would be blackmailing me over the content of our conversation. Not you, though. Why?”

Uncomfortable under the scrutiny of those dark eyes, the Witch of the Wilds looked away. She had no desire to answer, and yet the question made sense. She had actually considered that possibility, but of course, she couldn’t admit that to Isabela.   
Morrigan remained silent, hoping that her interlocutor wasn’t persistent. 

“You know, whoever you are, it’s quite obvious that you’re a mage. Maybe you’re an apostate fleeing from a Circle.” Isabela shrugged. “I don’t care. However, if you’re searching for a safe haven, you could consider traveling to Rivain. There, even Circle mages are properly treated and enjoy a good amount of freedom.”

Before the astonishment could show on her face, Morrigan turned the handle, leaving the cabin, and Isabela, behind her. Why all that kindness? Why had she let her go alive, even after she had discovered her secret? Morrigan quickly closed her own cabin’s door behind her, locking it carefully. Maybe she had to watch her back, but at least now she had the chance to avoid a life of misery. 

Morrigan had two _real_ options to choose between. A lot more than she had only an hour ago.


	10. Down, down in my bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Castle Cousland, Adrian finds more than he was expexting. Fergus Cousland is far more than a common shem.
> 
> Orzammar politics is in the way once again, but finally the road to the Deep Roads is opened. The group can continue its mission.

**_Dragon 9:31, August_ **

_“I suppose it’s one way to see the issue.”_

That’s what Adrian would have replied Commander Tamarel, the thought he had not given voice to. 

Her reasoning was alien to him. It was beyond him to understand how someone could consider being a Warden more than a servitude and a burden, and he could never open his heart to two strangers, like the Commander had done with him and Leliana. Not to mention that she was a round-ear, and he was closer to what the People had been than she could ever be. He and the Commander, really, couldn’t be more opposite. In the end, he had decided to remain silent. There had been such a sadness and regret in her eyes, that he had chosen to not voice his opinion and risk to deepen her sorrow and her regret. Voicing his opinion would only have saddened her even more—he had learned from Leliana that kind of compassion, something he was thankful for to no end. 

Furthermore, he somehow pitied her. She probably needed the idea that now her existence was meaningful to go on with her life. Part of him had wanted to ask her how she had managed to come to accept her life as a Warden, how could she have come to consider it a purpose after all the misery of the Alienage. Maybe, all he had to do was stop thinking that the Eluvian forced him into becoming a Grey Warden, and consider Duncan’s intervention a salvation instead. He had, after all, saved him from death. But even so, had that awareness made the Commander any happier? Was it really worth it? If he was going to be miserable either way, he could as well keep on clinging to his past and what he had lost. 

Or maybe not. As he kept riding towards Cousland’s Castle, Adrian turned towards Leliana. She was riding ahead of him and speaking with Teyrn Fergus Cousland’s Captain of the guards—once she had noticed his darkened expression, she had left his side without asking any question. She knew exactly what was right and what was wrong, and she was capable of offering love and affection without asking any in return. Somehow, she reminded him of Tamlen; a less pompous, feminine Tamlen, but they still had in common a golden heart and the ability to fully offer their friendship and their love. While Tamlen was too cocky to openly reveal his generous side to everyone, Leliana wasn’t afraid to. That was what had drawn him to her in the first place, she was nothing like anyone he had ever met before, except his old friend. And she was the only light in his life, his only hope to feel something different than despair and misery. Why, then, had he kept searching for Morrigan’s raven hair in the crowd embarking at Amaranthine’s port, once he had caught a glimpse of her upon leaving the city?

Adrian focused on that ginger hair, that soft smile, even the way Leliana’s hands were holding the reins. He had to let that dilemma go. Breathing the Waking Sea’s air, he took a look at the crystal waters and spurred the horse. He could make it. He could let go of the past, at least in a certain measure.

* * *

As he, Leliana, Oghren, Shale, and the Queen’s soldiers entered Cousland Castle’s courtyard, the sun was setting. Adrian recalled the little he knew of the Couslands’ collapse. The whole family had been slaughtered by Howe earlier before the Blight spread like wild fire in Ferelden—Fergus, the only survivor, had left to join the battle of Ostagar one day before the slaughter and been presumed dead until the battle of Denerim. Now, under the Queen’s orders, the Teyrn had been charged with taking care of their horses until their return. Mountain passes were no place for horses. 

After having dismounted, Adrian took a couple of seconds to look around. It was the first time that Adrian could really dwell on a human fortress. Castle Cousland was no doubt majestic, a construction built to be both graceful and sheltering. A double door worked as the entrance to the castle, while two arched doors led to the courtyard. A banner depicting two green spears crossed in front of a pale green raindrop fluttered on the highest point of the castle. The trees planted in the courtyard had been uprooted from the ground and were now laying down, dead. Still, even he, someone who found no appeal in stone buildings… Stone buildings. Like the one where Tamlen had—

“Its face has turned to white. A curious phenomenon, but maybe not a normal one. It seems sick, just like the human we found face down some time ago.”

The golem’s voice brought Adrian back to reality. He blinked, turning towards Shale. 

“Right. Not normal. But now everything’s fine, Shale,” Adrian replied. 

“Good. It has survived the Archdemon. It would be ridiculous, if it died without even being smashed.”

Adrian absent-mindedly nodded. Shale was peculiar as she was, and he had long ago given up on having normal conversations with her. 

A sudden, weird thought took him by surprise. The castle somehow remembered him of the People: just like them, it was still majestic, but the war and the partial state of neglect of the structure had undermined its powerful appearance. Confused by his own thinking, the Dalish looked around once again. It wasn’t the first time he saw a construction ruined by the Blight. Why was Castle Cousland that special? 

Finally, Adrian realized it. The reason was no doubt the Couslands’ tragic story. He was so nauseated with killings, war, and human treachery that the mere thought of allies turning on each other, the idea of a family slaughtered, made him outright sick. Surely Fergus Cousland was no different from any other noble, though. Certainly he didn’t dream to welcome them in person. He was no doubt sending some elven servant to fetch them and lead them to the richest room of the castle. After all, nobles had to make a show of their wealth even when they were reduced to poverty. 

A sound of wood slamming against stone recalled his attention. A richly dressed man was exiting the castle and walking towards them. He was still quite young, young enough to remarry and ride in war, but there was a stern sadness on his face that clearly spoke of how little he wished either of those things. 

"The laurel wreath resembling two white wings sewed on his vest. That's the Couslands’ heraldry. He must be Fergus Cousland himself," Leliana whispered, bowing immediately after.

The whole group followed Leliana’s example, bowing in submission to the Teyrn of Highever. On bended knee, Adrian wondered what he should expect from that man. He had surprised him already. 

“No need for such formalities. Stand, all of you,” His Lordship, the Teyrn of Highever, commanded. 

Adrian rose, finding himself face to face with someone old already in his mind and his heart. His was the look of someone who has lost everything, and all he waits for is another punch in the stomach—still, someone who despite that was ready to bite the bullet. Some men around him whispered, others looked at each other in discomfort, but Fergus Cousland completely ignored his servants and soldiers.

“I am his Lordship Fergus Cousland. But when in front of the Hero of Ferelden and his companions, it should be me to bow,” Fergus Cousland declared. 

At first, Adrian was pervaded by the familiar, unwelcome sensation of being treating like a symbol instead of an actual person. He quickly looked away, knowing he was required to speak and offer an answer. However, when he looked at Cousland once again, he saw something he had never witnessed before in a shem, with the only exception of his companions. The Teyrn was actually looking at him, and not staring in disbelief and admiration. 

“Teyrn Cousland,” the Warden began, taking a step forward, “I thank you, on behalf of my companions too, for your hospitality and for taking care of our mounts for whatever time will be necessary. Your helpfulness is truly appreciated.”

The Teyrn nodded in recognition of his words. “You are welcome, Warden Mahariel. You know as well as I do that I am acting under Queen Anora’s orders in regard to your horses, but to tell the truth it was I who offered to host you for tonight. Now, please, all of you, follow me.”

Without another word, he started walking back inside the castle. He didn’t turn to check if they were actually following him.

**_§§_ **

The dinner dragged by. The food was excellent, and yet way too sophisticated for Adrian’s taste. And the wine, as exquisite as it tasted, couldn’t match the herbal, fresh drink typical of the Sabrae clan. That mere thought made him feel homesick. He kept eating, chatting with the Teyrn and his companions as little as possible. To tell the truth, there was a certain gloom in the air. Castle Cousland seemed too large, too big for just one man. The servants, weirdly enough all human, were simply not enough to fill the space. And even if they had, something was altogether missing. All in all, Adrian felt uneasy.

After what seemed an eternity, it was over. Adrian stood with relief, waiting for Teyrn Cousland to call for one of his servants to show them to their rooms. 

“Warden Mahariel,” Fergus Cousland said, “I request to speak with you. Privately. I assure you, it won’t take long.” The man surveyed him with what resembled real concern. “You look tired. I won’t keep you from your rest.”

Initially, Adrian reacted with annoyance to the request. He had no idea what that shem could wish of him, and most of all he wanted the morning to come as soon as possible. He didn’t belong in a noble’s house. Nevertheless, the Teyrn had asked kindly enough, and more importantly, he had been surprised once already. 

Adrian briefly nodded to the noble. “Fine, Teyrn Cousland. Lead the way.”

He briefly glanced at Shale, Oghren, and Leliana, lingering on her, before parting ways with them.

**_§§_ **

The hallway he and the Teyrn of Highever were walking down was something entirely different than the dining hall. The hallway’s walls were covered from wall to wall with paintings. Portraits of men and women, all wearing the Cousland’s coat of arms. It was as if he and the man were surrounded by ghosts. The silence was deafening.

“Your ancestors, I take it?” Adrian inquired, in a desperate attempt to fill the silence. Too late he realized his voice was too squeaky, far from his natural, quiet tone. 

His Lordship stopped and turned towards him. In the torchlight, he really looked like the men and women portrayed. Then, he pointed at an old, almost wrinkled portrait. A stern-looking, well-built man wielding a longsword stared back at them—the painter had frozen him in a time where he was strong, powerful, and utterly invincible. 

“Sarim Cousland, captain of Bann Conobar Elstan’s guards. When Bann Conobar was murdered by his wife, the now legendary Flemeth, Sarim Cousland acquired Highever, and thus turned into Bann Cousland,” the Teyrn explained. His tone sounded quite flat. Too flat for someone recapping his family’s history. “My family had to fight with tooth and nails to gain its independence from the Arling of Amaranthine. But for Highever to become a Teyrnir, we had to fight werewolves. According to the scholars, our forces were commanded by a woman. Mather or Haelia Cousland.” He then fall silent and resumed walking. 

Adrian followed, without breathing a single word. He hadn’t asked for a history lesson, furthermore, he had no idea what he was supposed to say in response. His mind raced for an answer to that dilemma. How would Leliana act? She was so much more skilled than he, in terms of social interactions. He desperately tried to put together a proper answer, to no avail. Only one name resounded in his head: Flemeth. Did I manage to kill her? Is Morrigan safe? Adrian immediately tried to suppress that disturbing thought, only to fail spectacularly. He wondered where she was, where she could have gone. What she was thinking. There at Cousland Castle, where the majority of inhabitants were ghosts and lost souls and melancholy reigned, he couldn’t help but think about her. In a sense, she was lost—he had lost her. Strangely enough, even though she had betrayed him, he realized he had no desire to see her dead. After all, he himself had misbehaved in her and Leliana’s regards. 

Fergus Cousland’s words interrupted his train of thoughts. He gestured towards another portrait, and Adrian turned to look at it. He was now staring into the spirited eyes of a dark-haired, elegantly dressed young girl. She looked impatient and wild, as if being frozen in time was something she disliked. 

“My family has never appreciated being tied down to someone. Not even King Calenhad. Teyrna Elethea Cousland fought King Calenhad in an attempt to maintain Highever's independence and bent her knee only when she was defeated. In the end, she preferred swearing fealty than losing the teyrnir of Highever.” Fergus Cousland shrugged. “I suppose she bargained a complete independence with the kind of power a teyrnir, they say,” he suddenly turned bitter, “grants.” 

To find out that nobles could be more than humans hungry for power was surprising. If the Teyrn was telling the truth, the Couslands had fought hard for their actual position, and would have been content with remaining an independent kingdom. Instead, they had been forced to become enslaved to a King. In the end, the crown had rewarded them by granting Arl Howe, the one responsible for the massacre, the Highever Teyrnir. The resemblance struck Adrian—the elves of the ancient era were not so different than the Couslands. Everything both wanted was to live in peace, rule themselves, not be subject to anyone else. The Couslands had been guided by their strong, independent nature, the elves by their desire to shun the humans, because their proximity meant losing immortality. They both had been denied their freedom, condemned to serve. For the first time in his life, Adrian found himself wondering whether some shems weren’t after all, not that different from the People. Too shocked to talk at all, all he could do was keep listening. 

Now, the Teyrn’s eyes were set on the girl’s portrait. His gaze spoke of a guilt, grief, and regret that shook Adrian to the core. In a shem’s eyes, he could read the same feelings that tormented him since Tamlen’s death.

“She’s Elyssa, my sister,” Fergus whispered. “Mother and father always said she had the same fire of Teyrna Elethea. Fiercely loyal to her family, a skilled warrior, she had asked me a thousand times to bring her with me on the battlefield.” His voice was almost broken. “I should have listened to her. If I did, maybe she would still be alive and well.”

That melancholy and the sudden, unexpected affinity with an unknown shem were too much for Adrian. He reacted to it all in the only way he could think of: detachment. 

“Why are you telling me this, Your Lordship?” Adrian asked, distancing himself from the Teyrn through the use of his formal title. “We are strangers, and yet you bare your emotions to me. I… don’t understand.”

To his surprise, the Teyrn didn’t react with anger. When he spoke, his voice was calm and quiet. He never looked away from his sister, though. “You are right, Warden,” he admitted. “We’ve never talked before, and therefore, I don’t know you personally. I apologize if I have burdened you with my grief.” He paused, finally turning towards Adrian. “I heard stories about you. About how you were torn away from your clan and your family, about how you valiantly fought for all of us. And yet, at the coronation, I didn’t see what I expected. I saw a man distressed by being a hero, someone far from being willing to behave for the sake of appearances. Forgive my bluntness, Warden, but you don’t make much of mystery of your melancholic nature.” As he opened the door the next to Elyssa Cousland’s portrait. “Maybe you haven’t asked to be anyone’s hero, but you still stand out in a crowd.” He gestured Adrian to follow. 

Totally taken by surprise and bewildered, Adrian complied. He barely looked around and focused his attention on Fergus Cousland. 

Once he had closed the door, the Teyrn resumed talking. “All I said is meant as a compliment. You really are a refreshing change in the field of power, Warden.” 

“Field of power? But I’m just a—“ Adrian attempted to protest.

His interlocutor ignored him. Now, he was clearly disgusted. “I’m so sick of nobles turning against each other, of betrayal and mind games. They were too busy fighting against each other, instead of taking care of the Blight. And while they were quarreling, you saved them all despite Loghain’s dirty tricks. So, I owe you my thanks. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. No one would remember my family anymore.”

Those words left Adrian speechless. Even the Queen had dismissed his merits, and now a shem, a noble, was personally thanking him. “I had little choice, Your Lordship,” he replied, “I did what I had to do.”

Teyrn Cousland briefly smiled. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Before I lead you to your room, Warden, please take the bit of advice I offer you. You don’t seem to understand how much being the Hero of Ferelden has changed your station. You’re not just a Warden. You’re not just a Dalish elf. Now, you’re a player on the field of power, whether you like it or not. I suggest you get used to this idea, because if you don’t someone will eventually turn you into a pawn.” He held out his hand. “As far as it concerns me, I offer you my friendship and support. You will never have to fear betrayal from me.”

Adrian hesitated, staring at that extended hand. He didn’t trust the man, but he was also the first person to treat him with respect, except, of course, his companions. And after all, a handshake didn’t really mean much, right? He was signing no treaty, plus, he could still remain alert should the Teyrn act suspiciously. Adrian shook Fergus Cousland’s hand.

* * *

**_Dragon 9:31, Kingsway_ **

“I’m afraid, Warden, that the Assembly has not yet come to a decision regarding your request.”

“Mythal’enaste! You are King Harrowmont. Just order them, dammit! I have no intention to—“ Adrian hissed. His patience was exhausted. They had crossed Orzammar’s gates two weeks ago, but they had yet to set foot in the Deep Roads. He hated being trapped under a mountain enough, without having to endure the Deshyr’s games. 

“Bronto piss. That’s what I always hated about Orzammar. Y’all never move that arse when it’s needed. Do you think I’ve forgotten how you left Branka—“ Oghren exploded. 

Leliana took a step forward, placing a hand upon both his and Oghren’s shoulder. Forcing a smile, she addressed King Harrowmont. “Please, Your Majesty, forgive us. We’ve been traveling for months, and as I’m sure you know irksome circumstances turn normally polite people into tired, susceptible individuals. We understand how complicated it is to deal with the Assembly, and we know you’re doing your best to grant that our request is not only taken into consideration, but also fulfilled.”

Upon hearing Adrian and Oghren’s words, Pyral Harrowmont, King of Orzammar, had started turning red due to his growing rage. However, Leliana’s quiet, respectful intervention calmed him down. 

“Exactly, Lady Leliana. I have every intention to make sure this expedition gets the Assembly’s permission. The deshyr are...” the dwarf pondered for a second, “wary, when it comes to dealing with other races. Even more so when the Queen of Ferelden is involved in the matter. However, they’re also aware that an in-depth research about the broodmothers would benefit Orzammar, too. So, I’m optimistic. Just give us a couple of days, and Orzammar not only will open the Deep Roads for you, but it will offer you its aid to make sure that you are successful.” And with that, he dismissed Adrian’s group with a brief gesture. 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Leliana replied, bowing to the King. She eloquently glanced at Adrian and Oghren until they bowed too. Surprisingly, Shale had immediately mimicked her gesture. In her own way, of course. 

Adrian kept his mouth shut until they left the room. Leliana was right, of course—insulting the King wouldn’t help at all. Simply put, he was growing tired of doing Queen Anora’s bidding. True, taking part in a darkspawn research was something he was called to do as a Warden, too, but he had had enough nonetheless. In Orzammar, he felt like there wasn’t enough air to breathe for everyone. Not to mention the impasse that Orzammar politics had forced them into. Remembering how Harrowmont had once told them how he’d rather be just than strong, he wondered if the king he had chosen could, if needed, actually be strong or not.

The moment they stepped through the royal apartments’ door, leaving Harrowmont alone, Shale spoke.

“The bard is the wisest. I never thought this before.”

That useless comment made Adrian lose his patience. Turning towards Leliana and his companions, he murmured, “Do we really have to be at the Deshyr’s beck and call? There must be something we can do.”

Oghren drank a sip of liquor, grumbling, “Aye. We’re stuck, Warden. The Deshyr have to figure out by themselves some way to turn our request into something more that doesn’t threaten their stinky arses. Let me break it to ya, Warden. By choosing Harrowmont, you have allowed Orzammar to close its gates to the world. And I bet that the Deshyr that supported Aeducan and his weird ideas are not pleased with their new King. The casteless know it, and that’s why they dare show their dirty faces in the commons. Our expedition is the last of their problems.” 

A soft coughing in the proximity took them by surprise. A female, red-haired dwarf holding the Deshyr’s staff stood in front of them. It took Adrian a moment to recognize her: it was Orta, the member of House Ortan he had helped by proving her legitimacy.

“Orta. It’s good to see a friendly face, at last,” Adrian greeted her.

Orta briefly smiled. “Same for me, Warden. When I dreamed of being part of the Assembly, I didn’t expect it to be such a pain in the ass. Talking of which...” she lowered her voice, “we just discussed your request. The situation is grim, but I think I can help.”

Adrian sighed in relief. Perhaps, luck was finally smiling at them. The sooner they entered the Deep Roads, the sooner they would complete the mission. “I’m all ears,” he declared. 

Orta nodded, then began explaining. “You have given Orzammar a King, but you and your friends are still strangers. You will remain so as long as you don’t turn into dwarves.” She pointed at Oghren. “Respected dwarves. No offense, Oghren. I’m only reporting what my peers believe.”

Oghren grumbled, “Nugs and dolts!”

“Also, the Deshyr are adamant that they already rewarded you for your service by sending dwarven troops. In other words, they don’t trust you, thus, they don’t want you to venture into the Deep Roads by yourself. Who knows, you might want to keep your findings for yourself,” Orta continued. “They will agree to your request, should, at least, one house send Orzammar troops to escort you. Unfortunately, almost none of them wish to risk their soldiers to make you a favor.”

Adrian listened intently, nodding at her in the end. He grimaced. “You said you could help. What were you referring to?”

Orta’s answer came quick and clear. “I am willing to offer my troops. Sadly, though, I command a small number of men. They won’t be enough, should any problem arise. However, if I managed to contact Kardol and persuade the Legion of the Dead to offer its assistance, you would certainly obtain the Assembly’s approval. The Legion of the Dead is a neutral organization, which means it won’t try to snatch your findings up.”

“Can we be of help?” Leliana asked. “Kardol knows us. We could try talking with him ourselves.”

The Deshyr shook her head. “He’s holed up in the Deep Roads. Furthermore, if someone saw you talking with him you might be accused of trying to bribe him. I’ll take care of it. Within the month, your expedition will enter the Deep Roads. I assure you.”

* * *

**_Dragon 9:31, Harvestmere_ **

In front of Adrian the Deep Roads opened wide. 

There was no gate to keep that claustrophobic, deadly underworld separated from the rich, civilized Orzammar—nothing more than a narrow stone road and an increasing darkness. Behind him, the safety and the open air. In front of him, what would eventually become his tomb, once his body would be unable to sustain the corruption any more. Yet, he was eager to go forward. It was his only way out of that risky mission, and he realized that he would never leave Leliana to adventure down there alone. 

Adrian looked around. Leliana, Oghren, and Shale were by his side, as well as a squad of House Ortan’s soldiers and a platoon of men and women from the Legion of the Dead. While waiting for the commander of House Ortan’s platoon to approach the guards placed at the entrance and show them the documents regarding the expedition, he unrolled the parchment Warden Commander Tamarel had given them. The report was quite long, so he focused on Enchanter Fiona’s directions.

_While they were down there, of course, Enchanter Fiona didn’t take notes about the directions_

_they were going to. King Maric was guiding Commander Genevieve and her Wardens, but even_

_he had to rely on pure luck when a large group of darkspawn prevented them from following the_

_road he remembered. They had to take a turnaround. Enchanter Fiona insisted about this: never_

_take an unknown turnaround while traveling in the Deep Roads. They were lucky, she says, but_

_luck is a volatile thing. Some time after the conclusion of the “adventure”, both King Maric and_

_the Enchanter had been summoned by the Grey Wardens of Weisshaupt; in that occasion, they_

_had put their heads together to help the Wardens in drawing a map that could help them reach_

_Kul-Baras thaig. According to the King and Enchanter Fiona, Kul-Baras thaig can be reached by_

_traveling south-west from Ortan thaig. The road leading there borders Caridin’s Cross, but it_

_can’t be reached in the same way. A wall of stone separates the road to Kul-Baras and_

_Caridin’s Cross. Keep on the south-east, she said, and you will probably be safe._

“Are you really him? The Hero of Ferelden?”

Adrian looked down. By his side, a female dwarf wearing the armor of the Legion and the tattoos of a casteless dwarf was staring at him. Her hair, somehow curiously, was tied in two pigtails. 

“You are correct,” he replied. Unsure of what that dwarf could wish of him, he didn’t add anything. 

“Then, you should know my name is Sigrun,” she continued. “Us of the Legion are already dead, but that doesn’t stop us from keeping our name.” She looked at him with a certain curiosity. “We have the same goal, you and me. The only difference is that we fight underground, and you Wardens mainly on the surface.”

“Right. And…?” Adrian inquired. 

Sigrun shrugged. “You’re the first Warden I’ve met. That’s all.”

In that moment, the dwarves guarding the entrance to the Deep Roads moved away. The mission could finally start.


	11. In deadly shades and bowels of the earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Down in the bowels of the earth Adrian, Leliana, the Legion of the Dead and Queen Anora's guards will find something coming straight from their worst nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warm welcome to _new subscribers and readers_ as well!  
>  Also, a special thank you to [I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EilonwyCousland/pseuds/I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins) for having offered me just the right suggestion to describe Aeducan's heraldry.
> 
> Those of you who have read "The Calling" might recognize sections of the specific path Duncan, Fiona and Maric took to reach Kul-Baras thaig.  
> Those who didn't... I hope you'll enjoy the chapter nonetheless :)

**_Dragon 9:31, Harvestmere_ **

All Leliana could see around herself was stone. Stony were the walls, stony was the ceiling, stony as well the ground on which they were walking. The Deep Roads were really the place where the Stone reigned—there, where the dwarves couldn't shape her into houses and tame her, resided the being the dwarves revered. She took a deep breath. That breathing, majestic creature of stone wasn't meant for humans or elves to dwell, but it somehow smelled of divine. It was a comforting thought, even if the Maker was only present as a guest. Perhaps, Mother Dorothea would say that the Maker was in every place on Thedas, still... Either way, that dreaded walk didn't feel nearly as terrifying as it had during her first trip in the Deep Roads. In truth, being surrounded by stone was still better than being a prisoner in the gilded cage of Orlesian politics. 

A quick glance towards Adrian, though, was enough to tell the Lay Sister how much he was distressed instead. Sure, he was advancing steadily, without hesitating at all, but his was the gaze of a trapped animal. She could read in his gestures and in the curtness of the words that he, from time to time, exchanged with Karol, how he was alert, as if he was waiting for an ambush at every step. Once more, she wondered if there was some way to have him embrace the Maker—after all, Shartan had fought for Andraste. And since Tamlen's death, the Evanuris offered him little solace. 

However, Leliana noticed, Adrian wasn't the only one tense. The female dwarf of the Legion of the Dead, the one who had approached Adrian right before they had entered the Deep Roads‒—Sigrun, wasn’t it?—seemed concerned, too. And to be honest, she wasn’t the only one amongst the Legion. Suddenly, she felt anxious. There had to be some reason why one of the Legion was being careful. 

She quickly approached the dwarf. She was, after all, officially responsible for the mission, for those people following her, and she had to make sure everything was proceeding accordingly to the plan. "You look like you're expecting trouble. Is there anything I should be made aware of?" Leliana inquired.

Sigrun shot her a single, serious look. The dwarf, Leliana had noticed, was far from sulky. Which meant that if she was being serious there had to be a reason. "I don't like how peaceful and silent it is around here. Shouldn't the darkspawn have retreated back into the Deep Roads? Why haven't we met any?"

Leliana pondered in silence for a couple of seconds. Sigrun had a point. Still... "We have yet to reach Aeducan thaig. Maybe they don't dare to venture so near Orzammar."

 

The dwarf shook her head. She didn't seem completely convinced. "It might well be. However, we both know that, without an Archdemon to guide them, darkspawn aren't that much concerned about their own safety."

Sighing, Leliana nodded. "Alright. We'll remain alert."

The more she walked on, though, the more Leliana was anxious. In the walls, there were several cracks leading to hidden caves, and yet all she heard was the sound of the members of the expedition's steps. Part of her whispered her how she shouldn't doubt the Maker, urged her to pray and ask him for protection and strength. And yet another insinuating, slithery voice reminded her she had lost that right due to her sins. Leliana gritted her teeth. She would _not_ give in to her doubts. Her faith was stronger than that.

_O Maker, hear my cry, guide me through the blackest nights..._

"Halt!" a thunderous voice called. Kardol's voice. "The entrance to Aeducan's thaig is on our right. Get ready. We don't know what we could find behind those doors."

Despite her prayers, while the Legion of the Dead worked on the ancient mechanism that kept the doors to the thaig closed, Leliana grabbed her bow and one of her arrows. She watched as the double doors bearing the Aeducan heraldry slowly opened, splitting in half the stylized figure of a dwarf covering the doors.

**_§§_ **

The further the expedition group went into the thaig, the more Leliana perceived her fears as silly and unreasonable. She took a deep breath, looking around. All she could see was centuries-old houses and structures and stone hallways probably leading to internal caves. Still, weren't those stacked constructions the perfect place to set a trap? And as she glimpsed a shadow moving, she turned, nocking her arrow. It took her a couple of seconds to realize that it was the shadow of a house created by the torch held by a Legion fighter. The silence, broken only by the armor's metallic creaking, was almost deafening. She even heard Kardol's whisper when he asked Adrian if he was perceiving darkspawn. When Adrian shook his head, Leliana relaxed a bit. The exit of Aeducan thaig was in sight already. Without an Archdemon, no darkspawn was enough cunning to resist the urge to assault living beings. Why, then, she couldn't shake that gloomy sense of danger off herself?

The hiss of a throwing dagger dancing in the air took them all by surprise. 

Under Leliana's terrified eyes, Adrian turned just in time to avoid having the back of his neck pierced. The weapon crashed into the junction of his right spaulder and his dragon scale cuirass, clanging on the ground. 

_Not him_ , Leliana thought. Something different than her sight, more powerful than a physical sense, revealed to her a pudgy figure running towards the nearest building. Leliana didn't think. She let an ancestral instinct guide her fingers on the string, rotating her torso as she followed Adrian's assailant‘s desperate run. She knew exactly when to shoot. She knew that her arrow would hit her target right in his head. 

A dozen casteless swarmed out of the shadow, the Aeducan crest painted on their plates, crying out Bhelen Aeducan's name. Leliana didn't care for any of that. Each time one of her arrows eliminated one of Adrian's enemies, a sense of triumph invaded her. Each time her companions managed to disarm them, crush them on the ground, slit a throat, she rejoiced inside. They had to die for what they had done. 

When everything was over, Leliana knelt beside one of the corpses. An old instinct told her to search the corpse, try to find out whatever was the reason for that attack. Once her fingers touched a piece of parchment hidden into the trousers' pocket, she froze in place. She had to be the first to read the content—depending on its nature, then, she would decide whether or not to share it with the companions. Leliana carefully looked around. No one was paying her any attention, the whole party was making sure that the area was safe and searching the other bodies. She carefully slipped the note out of the pocket.

_The Warden is the reason why the righful King, Bhelen Aeducan, has been murdered. Bhelen Aeducan deserves to be avenged. Ambush the Warden on his way to Kul-Baras and murder him._

_P.A._

Leliana stared at those blood-stained words in horror. With shaking hands, she rushed to hide the parchment inher backpack. She had no way to be sure that soldiers accompanying them were loyal to King Harrowmont. The Legion of the Dead was not the right force to address regarding political matters. As for Adrian—

"Are you alright? You look pale. Almost sick."

The moment she heard his voice, she took her decision. He didn't need to know. He didn't need to be involved with such a monumental scheme. 

Leliana struggled to crack a smile. "I'm just a little... you know, uncomfortable. All this stone around us makes me feel trapped." The lie slipped through her lips easily. Too easily, she bitterly thought, as she snuck him a quick kiss to reinforce her own words.

**_§§_ **

The following days felt like a nightmare for Leliana. Who knew if that P.A. hadn't delivered the same order to other casteless? Or maybe bought the services of some soldiers of the Legion? Her paranoia had already annoyed her companions more than once. Even Kardol. Leliana had overheard him wondering what she was so anxious for, considering that there was no sign of darkspawn and the Warden was able to perceive their presence. Adrian himself had taken her aside and asked her to control herself—her angst was infecting the Queen's soldiers, too. Since then, Leliana had kept to herself as much as possible, and simply taken every possible guard shift.

Several days after their departure the expedition was halfway between Aeducan thaig and Caridin‘s Cross. During a brief moment of rest, the Lay Sister examined a clump of corruption on the walls. The darkspawn had obviously inhabited that section of the Deep Roads. Where were those monsters, then? A sudden argument interrupted her thoughts. 

"That's the crack in the wall Enchanter Fiona mentioned, you confirmed it, Kardol. We know exactly where it leads, you say you've tracked that path before," Adrian calmly stated. 

"Nothing is exact in the Deep Roads, Warden. Not even the mapped Deep Roads," was Kardol's vexed reply. "Yes, beyond that crack there is a cavern where a dragon's skeleton lies and an underground lake. From what we gathered, it's another entrance to Ortan thaig and Kul-Baras, the same one used by Commander Genevieve and her Wardens many years ago. Nevertheless, I strongly advise against adventuring out of the Deep Roads. No map is worthy of that risk."

"No map, you say?" Adrian snapped. "Do I need to remind you that Amaranthine's Wardens are more entitled than the Legion is to be informed of Kul-Baras thaig's precise location and of every path leading in and out of it? And they don't currently have a map at their disposal?"

For a moment, Kardol's eyes glimmered with anger. Leliana stood up, ready to reconcile him and Adrian and avoid a futile quarrel. 

"I wouldn't say you are more entitled than the Legion, Warden. But I agree, considering the troubled history of that thaig, the Wardens deserve all the information they can possibly get. Fine, we'll explore that trail," Kardol agreed. 

Leliana swallowed a knot of resentment and frustration. Formally speaking, she was the head of that expedition. Despite that, no one had even wondered whether or not she agreed with that dangerous course of action. Of course, it went without saying that both Adrian and the Legion were more experienced than she was in navigating the Deep Roads, but still, didn't she deserve a vote? Perceiving] one of the Queen‘s guards' gaze on her, Leliana struggled to hide her emotions and followed Adrian into the dark.

**_§§_ **

The dragon's skeleton was beyond majestic.

They had traveled with extreme caution, watching every step and always making sure that the trail didn't lead them too far from the Deep Roads. The ground under their feet had seemed unstable, quite different from the smooth floor of the Deep Roads, but that was worth it all.

Other hands before them had touched the skeleton, and probably claimed for themselves one or two bones—the structure of the dragon's wings was undoubtedly incomplete, but to Leliana the dragon was perfect. It was amazing how Commander Genevieve, Duncan, King Maric, and her Wardens had managed to defeat such a powerful creature. And the dragon bone was one of the most resilient materials from which weapons could be forged.

Leliana respectfully caressed the clawed end of a metacarpus, and a wing phalanx. They could make for extraordinary daggers.

**_§§_ **

Ortan thaig was approached far more cautiously. After the ambush in Aeducan thaig, no one wanted to be surprised by whatever enemy could be hiding in the shadows. This time, wariness paid off: the gang of shrieks and genlocks 'welcoming' the group at the door met a quick end. Ironically, that attack calmed Leliana down—if darkspawn were around, maybe they had taken care of whatever force sent to murder Adrian.

That night, the expedition members slept inside the gigantic palace of Ortan thaig. And for the first time since the discovery of the plot against King Harrowmont and Adrian, Leliana agreed to enjoy a full night of sleep and let someone else take care of guard duty. The room chosen for that night's rest was large enough to allow each one of them to make themselves comfortable, and only a couple of shaded torches lighted the space up. 

That dim light helped Leliana to relax, to rest her mind. Something she was grateful for, because even while laying in her rucksack she couldn't bring her mind to give her a rest. She still couldn't get over Adrian's carelessness. To her, it was obvious: ignoring her, the appointed chief of the royal expedition, in front of the royal guards was far from wise—in fact, such a behavior could lead the Queen to wonder whether he respected royal authority or not. Considering how he now was watched by House Aeducan supporters, it was even less wise. Of course, he was not aware of that tiny detail. Merely thinking about that parchment made her feel tense, worried. Leliana realized she needed to talk to Adrian, make him understand how, as much he disliked it, he wasn’t only a Dalish elf anymore. If he really wished to distance himself from the field of power, he needed to learn how to tread carefully and avoid making enemies. During the Blight, he was the shining general destined to lead them to victory, and that same victory had turned him into a political figure. If only he wasn’t so stubborn and proud. If only she could shake the past off of him and lead him into the present. 

A soft sound of steps broke into Leliana’s over-thinking. She knew those steps too well. Adrian’s steps. She heard him lay by her side, removing his dragon scale plate as silently as possible, in an effort to not wake her up. That act of kindness sweetened her mood—he was stubborn, proud, inconsiderate, and too focused on the past, but he was also a gentle soul, always seeking to not hurt those close to him. 

Leliana closed her eyes, savoring the touch of his lips on her cheek and the warmth of his body near hers. It was the same kind of warmth he had offered her since they had met. At first, by being discreet and not asking her questions about her past; then, by not condemning her when she had confessed to him the truth about her. And finally, by loving her despite her sins and even more for her redemption and her choice to become a brand new person. No one else had ever accepted her wholly, like Adrian had done. Never before had she craved so much to gift serenity and happiness to someone else. Leliana felt his whisper on her ear. 

“You are the only light in my life, ma vhenan, and sometimes I feel like I’m… draining you. You give me so much, and I take all your love, all your gentleness because I need it,” Adrian whispered. “You are the only living being who’s been there for me during the nightmare that the Blight has been, and has chosen to not leave my side. At times...” he hesitated, remaining silent for several seconds. 

Leliana patiently waited. She didn’t speak, nor did she open her eyes. It was so rare for him to open up like that, and she didn’t want him to clam up. 

“...at times, I’m afraid I don’t give you enough. You have been upset lately, and even though I worried for you a thousand times I asked you if you were alright only once.” Adrian sighed. “All I could think of was how much I hate this place, how much I despise the Queen for putting us up to this mad quest. But you… you deserve more. I want to give you much more. So, should you ever wish to talk about whatever is that makes you feel angry and nervous, you can come to me. Anytime.”

It took her a significant effort to repress the lump in her throat. For a moment, Leliana really considered telling him everything. She was tempted to disclose her guilt, the pact she had made with Morrigan and Loghain. To reveal to him in how much danger he was. To let him know who she really was and to what length she was willing to go for his sake. However, she fought that dangerous urge. Adrian considered her some sort of a perfect, flawless creature he could always lean on—and she’d rather be just that if that meant to keep him by her side. She’d rather lie and meddle with politics again, if that meant to gift him the life he wanted. 

Leliana pushed back the confession on her lips, and turned her face to search for his mouth with hers. Feeling him respond to her affection was really all she wanted, what she couldn’t do without.

* * *

**_Dragon 9:31, Firstfall_ **

The more they neared Kul-Baras, the more the gloominess only Leliana had suffered from extended to each single member of the expedition. The road to the ancient thaig led them down into the bowels of the earth, where the corruption covered almost every single inch of the walls. They met several pieces of decadent dwarven masonry, grand buildings fallen prey to time, a sight that darkened the Legion’s mood. Occasionally, a small group of darkspawn attacked them; each time, they could easily discard the threat. The darkspawn had certainly ruled Kul-Baras once, but now they were gone somewhere else. Warden Commander Tamarel’s report was crucial when they ended up in front of a three-way intersection. 

Just as Enchanter Fiona had reported, the central passage led them to an endless, beautifully crafted corridor. Those walls were covered with dwarven-styled statues. Leliana wondered how ancient they were, who had built them—there was no time to stop and examine them, though. And even if there was, cleaning them up meant to come in contact with a dangerously high quantity of corruption. 

The corridor ended in a cave. Two giant statues bordered a great, vaulted arc, and a set of majestic stairs led upwards, towards whatever was beyond that arc. Kardol was the first to take the stairs, and the rest of the Legion immediately followed his leader. Adrian, Leliana, and the royal guards started climbing the stairs immediately after. 

The first legionnaire of the Legion stopped in the doorway. He was staring, wide-eyed, at some kind of rectangular structure at the top of the stairs. Two dwarven statues stood beside the altar. Champions, Leliana guessed, but when she turned towards Kardol to ask him he hadn’t moved his gaze. Even if the whole structure was covered in corruption, he was spellbound.

“It is… it is an altar. Some kind I’ve never seen before,” Kardol whispered, an obvious reverent note in his voice. “The Champions, as those blessed by the stone, were called to guard the altar.”

As an Andrastian, Leliana understood what being in front of something, anything sacred meant. “We won’t touch nor desecrate it, Kardol. I promise,” she whispered. 

The dwarf turned to look at her. His eyes were filled with gratitude. He simply nodded, moving towards the stairs shortly after. 

A half-opened door waited for them a couple of meters after the dwarven altar. Leliana shot a glance at Adrian, who shook his head—there was no sign of darkspawn. The path was free. Still, she was careful in not opening the door further. Somehow, the thought of modifying the surroundings so near to a sacred place troubled her. 

Now, in front of them opened up a long corridor. While the altar seemed so lively, so permeated with ancestral energy, the corridor was all cracks, gaping holes, and a sense of loss. The thaig was lost to Orzammar, and without loving hands to take care of if, it had become a ruin. The black taint on the walls was even thicker, to the point that it felt suffocating. That was no place for living beings. Not anymore. 

Adrian, Leliana, and Kardol quickened their pace. None of them wished to stay in Kul-Baras thaig more than they needed to. As they walked, they noticed several rooms along the corridor—all doors were shut, except the last one on the left. 

The moment Leliana perceived the blank space on her left, she gasped and almost jumped. The reaction of the companions echoed her anxiety, as every single one of them wielded his weapon and looked around, expecting a sudden attack. Nothing happened. No creature jumped out of the dark, no other sounds except their heartbeat could be heard. After what seemed an eternal moment, Sigrun lighted the room. 

The light revealed a large, empty room, cleaner of corruption than the rest of the area. The torch’s shadow danced, exposing to their eyes three cells very much similar to the ones of a prison. To Leliana’s relief, they were empty. What could dying in the bowels of the earth, alone and forgotten, feel like?

Adrian spoke first. “What do darkspawn make of prison cells? They don’t take prisoners. Not unless—“

“—the Architect is involved,” Leliana murmured, finishing his sentence. 

Sigrun carefully moved the torch in order to lighten the floor. Something metallic flashed. 

Adrian rushed inside and bent over. When Leliana saw him wincing, she ran to his side. The object on the ground wasn’t big, new, or particularly scary itself. But why in the Void was a brooch with the Grey Warden insignia down there? Sure, it could have belonged to someone gone to his, or her, Calling. The alternative was far worse. It involved a Warden held captive in that very room for some unknown reason. In silence, Adrian picked up the brooch. They both stood up, their legs trembling. 

Once again, the Warden was the first to talk. “Let’s keep going,” he simply said, making his way towards the end of the corridor. 

The only way to keep going was uncomfortable. They could either turn back or go down a large set of stairs where only darkness awaited them. Adrian and Kardol exchanged a brief look, nodding to each other. Both clenching their jaw, they began to descend. 

The stench of dead bodies immediately assailed their nostrils. The more they went down, the stronger it was. Several, both humans and dwarves, covered their noses. 

The sight of the carnage took them all by surprise. Half of the Queen’s guards threw up, Sigrun almost dropped her torch. Leliana stared in horror, unable to look away from the murdered broodmother and the corpses of the darkspawn around her. She stared into the broodmother’s eyes long enough to catch something in it. Something lively, something… _human_. 

Leliana blinked. It couldn’t be. Darkspawn didn’t feel any emotion, apart from the primal need to kill whatever breathed. She gulped, forcing herself to forget the terror, the horror, the stench all around, the monstrous gashes on the creature’s body, and turned once again towards the Mother. What she saw left her breathless—that soulless monster had died with desperation and fear in her eyes. 

“Look,” Adrian called in a whisper. He pointed at some broken tentacles on the floor, near which several genlocks were laying dead. One of them had been strangled, with the responsible tentacle still rolled around its neck. “The broodmother fought her own kind. But why? Darkspawn don’t fight each other.”

“Darkspawn shouldn’t feel emotions either,” Leliana murmured.


	12. Eyes of the heron, womb of a mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an attempt to find a safe place where she could escape Flemeth, Morrigan follows Isabela's lead and disembarks in Kirkwall.  
> She finds a temporary refuge in the person of Lirene, but as it turns out... the major threat is not her mother.

**_Dragon 31, Kingsway_ **

Two heron’s eyes were spying on the Evune clan. 

Day after day, the elves kept on with their lives, unaware of the Witch of the Wilds amongst them, spying on them on a daily basis. To the Evune clan, after all, the little bittern was only a bird. Small enough to not be a pithy prey, the little bittern fed on insects, larvae, crustaceans and marine life, that little bird was a shy, surly one. Few hunters ever got a glimpse of the little bird, none of them cared. No Dalish considered the little bittern a menace, or simply something that shouldn’t be in the Planasene Forest. Perhaps, if Keeper Yevven, the wise clan Keeper, had taken a look at the bird he would have perceived the magic permeating its brown feathers. But he never saw it. He never saw Morrigan.

At first, Morrigan had started to peek at the clan, and especially the Keeper, only due to finding the Dalish relic. However, day by day something had changed. A familiar feeling, so similar to the curiosity she had experienced when she had started shapeshifting to watch Lothering’s villagers, had emerged in her. Part of her envied the Dalish for their bond, for the family they shared, for the simple, religious, calm life they led. Another part, mostly a whisper in her ears before she fell asleep on her bed, once again a human, once again a woman, wondered if Adrian had once known that peace of mind, if in the past he had been just like the elves of clan Evune. Almost every time, Morrigan shut off that whisper in time to banish the next image. An image of herself revealing to him how she had always loved shapeshifting into birds because it allowed her to fly free and remain distant from people, of Adrian telling her what it was like to live with such a large, loving family. But whenever she failed to, she suffered a restless sleep and woke up more irritated than usual. Despite his betrayal, Adrian was still in her thoughts—and as more and more tales of his and Loghain’s victory against the Archdemon crossed the Waking Sea, traveling with the survivors of the Blight who came to Kirkwall for one reason or another, she wished she could deafen herself. At least for a while, enough to banish him and the memory of their time together—a time when everything was crystal clear and she didn’t feel so alone, from her mind. 

If only those people knew that their beloved Hero was a cheater and Loghain Mac Mac Tir had agreed to remain alive to annoy the Fereldan nobles and get back in his country’s good graces.

Each day, Morrigan grew more impatient and desperate to find out whether the Evune clan actually owned the relic or not, and if that relic was what she needed. Each day, she performed her duties at Lirene’s Ferelden Imports. Each time, shapeshifting into a heron, or anything for that matter, became more and more difficult. Each time, she felt more and more alienated from her own changing body. 

And every time the shop’s door opened, she shivered, half-awaiting for her mother to show up and make an entrance.

* * *

Three parts elfroot, three parts deep mushroom.   
Morrigan carefully weighed both herbs, making sure to use the right quantities, then she mashed them together with the pestle. 

When she had first started working for Lirene, she had composed every health poultice and every injury kit as quickly as she was used to during the Blight—sitting in her tent with Wynne, she had to churn out poultices as swiftly as possible. They were attacked at every step, wounded from time to time, and in desperate need of a quick remedy. 

As she calmly poured into the bowl one drop of concentrator agent, she let that warm memory embrace her. Despite the horrors, the fights, and the darkspawn, Morrigan would be ready to give up everything if she had the chance to go back to the year of the Fifth Blight. She would endure all the misery she had witnessed, had she the chance to feel herself once again. Deep inside, Morrigan knew that it wasn’t because of the pregnancy that her shapeshifting magic eluded her—it was the distinct sensation that she was in the process of becoming something entirely different. Once, her magic was her only heritage. Now… Morrigan brushed a hand against her slightly swollen belly.   
But what was she, if not a Witch of the Wilds? What would she do, if one day she found herself unable to morph?

Lirene’s shop was just a passing phase. She needed a work and a place to stay while in Kirkwall, until she could find the relic she was searching for. In truth, the offer Lirene had made her was tolerable enough. As a herbalist, she wasn’t required to confront herself with other people and could work in the back of the shop, where customers weren’t allowed. And Lirene herself, to be fair, was an acceptable woman. All she asked of her was to take care of various types of poultices. Not to mention her kind heart, kind enough to take in someone in dire need. Like herself. She would thank her the day she left, Morrigan decided. Lirene deserved as much, after the lies she had fed her for her own protection. 

“Laela?”

Morrigan turned. Lirene was standing in the doorway, staring at her with her usual serious expression. 

“What is it?” Morrigan inquired, laying the bowl on the table. She took a look at the herbs inside as they were forming a uniform poultice. Soon she would need to add the distillation agent, or else the recipe could be ruined. “I need to finish my work.”

Lirene closed the door, taking a few steps towards her. She nodded. “Yes. Your work. That’s what I’m here to talk about,” she began.

Morrigan almost panicked. Was she about to send her away? Had she been brusque one time too many? She needed that work. She needed the room Lirene had provided her. In Darktown, they would eat her alive. Trying to calm down the wild beating of her heart, Morrigan drew a deep breath. “Look, whatever I have done, please, just don’t drive me aw—“ 

“Do you really think I’m about to throw you out, Laela?” Lirene asked, looking at her wide-eyed. She took a further step. “You really have no idea what I’m about, do you?” she continued. 

Morrigan perceived a hint of disappointment in her voice. Before she could say anything else, though, Lirene resumed talking.

“You almost fainted in front of me while asking for a painkiller. It turned out you were burning with fever—I couldn’t leave you alone in the streets, with a child on the way and absolutely no experience of what the world is. I am not,” she emphasized the negation, “kicking you out. Besides, why would I ever renounce a skilled herbalist like you?”

The Witch of the Wilds sighed in relief. Her fears had turned out to be unsubstantial, the fruit of her distrustful nature. “What is it then?” Morrigan replied. She carefully poured two drops of distillation agent into the medicament. There, it was quite ready. 

“You know I was ready to help you without asking for anything in return, but you insisted on paying me back by helping me with the shop,” Lirene stated. “I’m here to tell you that I consider your debt repaid. You can go, if you wish. You are free.”

That turn of events took Morrigan by surprise. She didn’t want to go, she wasn’t free to. She had yet to accomplish her mission. Nervously biting her lip, she reviewed the conversation in her mind. Hadn’t the woman praised her abilities? Maybe…   
“Don’t you need my help?” she asked in a whisper. 

Lirene briefly smiled. “I could always use your talent, Laela. You’ve seen with your own eyes how many emergencies we have to face. I only wished to let you know that you’re no longer in debt with me. However, if you wish to stay and work here, you are welcome. As long as your pregnancy allows you, of course. I’m sure you and Vivianne will form a winning pair.”

Morrigan arched an eyebrow. No one ever talked about a collaboration. However, she had never requested to be by herself either. Being polite was quite the struggle, but she had to. She owed it to Lirene.   
“Vivianne?” she inquired. 

Lowering her voice, Lirene explained, “Vivianne Hawke. You two will act side by side, therefore, I need to tell you. She's an apostate, a healer. With her magic at our disposal, we will be able to save more lives.” The woman paused. “It goes without saying that the Templars must not know. We would all be ruined and end up in chains. Is that clear, Laela?”

Tricking bloated Templars? Morrigan was in, of course. The memory of herself and Flemeth trapping Templars in the Wilds and turning them into hopeless prey surfaced in her mind—it felt as sweet as honey. Lirene's proposal was probably the closest she could ever get to her past habits.   
“Got it,” she stated. 

Lirene briefly nodded, before knocking on the door subsequently after and opening it to let in a third, blond woman. Innocent, clean face, earnest smile, she entered the room. Only her hair, gathered in two crossed braided pigtails, was somewhat stern . Morrigan silently stared at the woman, wondering how anyone could look so innocent and naïve, wondering how much of it was a facade.

Suddenly, she grabbed Morrigan's hand. Completely taken by surprise, Morrigan could only look at her, wide-eyed and somewhat suspicious. Nevertheless, everything she read in the blonde's eyes was a sincere cheerfulness. 

“Well, I didn't bite you, did I? You can stop eyeing me as I was a venomous snake,” the blonde joked, letting her hand free. 

Despite those reassuring words, Morrigan hid her hand behind her back. Too much, too fast. 

“I'm Vivianne, by the way, if you haven't realized it already. And you are Laela. So, know we know each other. No need for suspicions.” Vivianne smiled once again. 

Morrigan suppressed an exasperated sigh. Maker, that Vivianne looked so much like Leliana, and she was probably keen to talk, and talk, and talk as well. 

“I suppose so,” Morrigan conceded, lying outright. 

For the millionth time, she cursed the blasted child in her belly.   
Even without it, she would need the relic, true, but pregnancy was proving hard enough on her to require a place to live that was more comfortable than a tent planted in the nowhere. 

**_Dragon 31, Firstfall_ **

Vivianne Hawke's arrival had completely changed the infirmary's atmosphere.

Once the infirmary was a peaceful, silent corner where Morrigan could listen to her thoughts, reminisce about her past, hide from the rest of the world. Now, even if there was no patient to be cured, the infirmary was always crowded when Vivianne was on duty. Much to Lirene's—and Morrigan's—dismay, Hawke had turned it into a meeting place for her and her friends. 

There was Aveline, the red-headed, stern Captain of the City Guard, who once in a while came to offer Hawke some kind of paid work. There was Varric, an annoying, talkative dwarf in love with his crossbow. Even a Dalish elf, Merrill, was part of the band of misfits; she, however, was always somehow distant from the group, as if her mind always resided elsewhere, and the only one Morrigan occasionally exchanged a few words with. From time to time, an elven warrior with lyrium engraved on his arms stopped by too—and that, Morrigan noticed, was the only time that Hawke's face really lit up. Leliana’s same expression upon watching Adrian. Fenris herself, in a sense, reminded her of Adrian, as in her eyes they shared the same grumpiness and unwillingness to expose themselves. Just like Leliana had done with Adrian, Hawke was trying to weaken his defenses, get to his core. A struggle that, day after day, was paying off. Much to her own discomfit, Morrigan had gotten to the point to despise those interactions and the mere presence of the lyrium elf. She didn’t want to look at those people being happy. She didn’t want to have people around at all. She hated how much she still craved friendship and affection. 

Nevertheless, Morrigan couldn’t really hate Hawke. That mage always had a smile up her sleeve for each one of her patients. And smiles, Lirene said, were something the people of Kirkwall needed more than the treatments themselves. Vivianne Hawke and she were as different as the sun and the moon, but they both were dedicated to their work. Morrigan, because it was the best way to keep a low profile; Hawke’s, however, was truly a vocation. She honestly believed the world was a sunny place, and that she could heal the shadows in it. 

Down in her bones, Morrigan envied Hawke’s naive attitude. It was something she had lost long ago and she would never get back.

**_§§§_ **

“Ehi, Varric. I bet you wish you had met the Hero of Ferelden, so that you could embellish his tales, too.”

The bowl almost fell from Morrigan’s hands. Gulping, she breathed in. Why in the Void Hawke was bringing that up?

Varric’s chuckle filled the air. “Ah, Hawke. The Hero doesn’t need my stories to enhance his legendary reputation. There are already people who go around saying he landed on the Archdemon’s head with a jackknife.”

Morrigan groaned. Whoever said so, obviously didn’t know Adrian. He hunted his enemies carefully, leaving the shadows only when he was sure that the blow was lethal. 

“Some also state that it was the Hero of River Dane to kill the beast.”

To her surprise, Merril’s thin, shy voice intruded into Hawke and Varric’s conversation. 

“I knew Mahariel. He didn’t like diving, plus, he wasn’t the kind of man who took pleasure in showing off.”

Morrigan blinked, half-turning to look at the Dalish mage. Normally, she spoke in a low voice and was always polite, but there was stubbornness in her voice and a light blushing on her cheeks. 

“Oooh. Look at that, Varric. Merrill’s sweet on the mighty hero of Ferelden!” Hawke exclaimed, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Don’t tell me you have hidden him from all us without even asking him to help us with the Deep Roads expedition,” she kept on joking.

Merrill’s face turned a full red. “No! I am not!” she protested, crossing her arms. 

Without thinking, Morrigan banged the bowl on the table. The moment Merrill, Hawke, and Varric looked at her in surprise, she immediately regretted her foolish gesture. Cursing herself for having been so impulsive, she struggled to regain her composure.

“You’re embarrassing the girl, Hawke. Don’t you have any shame?” Morrigan hissed. 

Hawke blinked at her in surprise, too amazed to talk. Morrigan could read in her face a certain indecisiveness, almost discomfort. Then, she smiled once again. “Is that your maternal instinct, Laela? I read somewhere that—“

“ENOUGH!” Morrigan yelled. She could feel her magic on the tip of her fingers, urging her to make that little spitfire pay for her insolence. 

A soft coughing broke the embarrassing silence between the three.

“I… uh, I’m gonna go,” Merrill whispered, heading towards the infirmary door quickly. 

As her magic retreated back into her veins, Morrigan exhaled. She silently cursed herself—she had almost blown her cover, revealed her magic, due to a foolish, jealous instinct.   
She had to get out of that room. 

And, as she caught a glimpse of Merrill outside the window, she also realized she wished to speak with the Dalish girl. It was insane, it made no sense, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to forget that thought. Maybe, just maybe, if she indulged that foolishness she could move on and leave the past behind.

Without further delay, Morrigan left Lirene’s shop.

**_§§§_ **

Spotting her coming near, Merrill gasped. The elf stared at her indecisively, as if she was a dog ready to bite. It took all of Morrigan’s effort not to sigh in exasperation.

“You’re not angry at me, are you? Because, just so you know, you’re all shady and you never talk and I never know when you’re angry, or anxious, or not annoyed. Just know I haven’t done anything...“ Merrill began.

Unable to process all that rambling, the Witch sharply interrupted her. “I am not mad at you, Merrill,” she reassured the Dalish. And when her expression relaxed, Morrigan felt relieved. Perhaps, if she was careful to not upset the scaredy cat, she wouldn’t have to put up with that much nonsense. 

Now, however, Merrill was looking at her questioningly. In her green eyes, Morrigan saw the same look she used to give pretty much everyone before all that mess, when she could afford being scornful to anyone. The only difference was the shade of it. While hers had been full of disdain, Merrill’s was much more shy. Now that Morrigan had Merrill’s attention, though, she wasn’t sure what to do with it—what she was supposed to ask her, or how. 

Merrill broke that awkward silence. “I suppose I should thank you, Laela. In your own weird way, you got me out of trouble. You know as much as I do how Hawke can be a busybody sometimes. A sweet busybody, yes, but still… By the way. I don’t.” She faltered a bit. “About Mahariel, I mean. Hawke is wrong.” Once again her cheeks turned a soft pink.

“Yes, she can be,” Morrigan quietly agreed. Truer words had never been spoken. She couldn’t count the times Hawke had tried to get her to talk about herself, her past, and the father of her baby anymore. Still, the mere mention of Adrian almost prompted her to bark at the Dalish girl. Struggling to control herself, she managed to keep her mouth shut—scaring her was exactly something she didn’t want. Also, another overdone reaction could give her away. 

“Would you like to come to my house?” Merrill suddenly blurted. “I could… If you want to. No pressure.”

Morrigan opened her eyes wide. Where did that come from? What had she done to earn an invitation? Regardless, she wasn’t going to blow that chance. She nodded in agreement, and the two women started walking towards the Alienage. 

As Kirkwall paraded in front of her, Morrigan realized it was the first time she was out of the Wilds for good, and in the position to truly live in the external world. Nevertheless, all those people still were sort of aliens from her. When they entered the Alienage, she surveyed the houses, the elves, the poverty soaking everything around her. Even though there was no Tevinter magister tricking the people, nor any pestilence, both Denerim‘s and Kirkwall‘s alienage reeked of misery. 

“There we are,” Merrill stated, messing about the door of her house. When she finally managed to open it, she added, “There shouldn’t be rats anymore. But if you see one… I’ll take care of it.”

Morrigan shrugged. Rats were the last of her worries in the world. Merrill excused herself, leaving to get some water from the well to offer her. 

Somewhat curiously, she studied the room she was in—it was simple, but neat and mostly clean. The moment she reached the half-opened door leading to the second room, she felt something. Magic, pure magic humming in her blood. Enchanted by the sound, she followed that magic chant. And when she peeked in, she gasped in surprise. 

It was cracked and flawed, but it was an Eluvian nonetheless. Unable to look away, Morrigan examined its lines, its shining magic aura. Its whisper caressed her ears, inviting her to step in, to travel to fabulous cities where she and her baby would be safe. She took one tentative step, ready to believe that promise. 

The creaking of the wood as she bumped into the room’s door brought her back to her senses. 

Scared by her own willingness to follow those voices, Morrigan pulled back. Her breath quickened, her heart raced. 

She _had_ to befriend the Dalish mage. 

 

**_Dragon 31, Haring_ **

Firstfall had faded into Haring, but Morrigan had come no closer in her search. There was no sign of the relic yet, nor had Merrill ever mentioned the Eluvian—putting up with Merrill’s rambling had turned out to be useless. The Witch had surprised her fiddling around the mirror more than once, but each time Merrill had avoided her questions. She had, however, talked about Adrian, their life at the clan, his friend Tamlen with heart-wrenching longing. That, Morrigan hadn’t had to ask. Merrill truly lived in the past.  
Sadly, though, it was going worse and worse. The last time she had morphed she had almost lost the concentration because of her baby kicking in her belly. Her time was close to being up. 

At least, she thought as she mixed the herbs for a healing concoction, that morning she was alone. Hawke had gone off to some errands with Fenris and her friends, and she could at least think in peace. 

“Hawke?”

The sound of that voice chilled her veins. It wasn’t possible. Of all people, Isabela couldn’t be in Kirkwall and in Lirene’s shop, be a friend of Vivianne. 

When the pirate entered the infirmary, stared at her in consternation. Completely paralyzed, Morrigan dropped the herbs.

“You!?” Isabela said, once she managed to talk. 

“I—“ Morrigan began, only to shut her mouth. She simply was at a loss for words. Isabela’s presence complicated everything. Was her charade over?

Unexpectedly, the Rivaini pirate smiled. “So you are the grumpy herbalist,” she stressed the word, “Hawke talked about. Fascinating.”

For the second time in her life, Morrigan felt trapped. The first time, she thought Mother would have possessed her. Now, she was sure that woman would tell everyone how they met already and how she was more than a herbalist. 

“Are you going to tell them?” Morrigan inquired, in a whisper. 

“Tell them what? That you’re hiding your magic from everyone?” the Rivaini playfully retorted. She burst out laughing. 

Completely baffled, the Witch of the Wilds could only stare at the other woman, wide-eyed, like a mouse in a trap. She had no means to interpret that laugh. 

Slowly shaking her head, the ghost of a smile on her lips, Isabela spoke again. “You can rest smoothly, sweet thing. What would I ever get out of it? Besides, you know my secret, too. So,” she theatrically extended her arms, “a secret for a secret? Deal?”

“Deal,” Morrigan quickly agreed. Perhaps, just perhaps, she was safe.

* * *

The Witch of the Wilds contemplated the rose-pale pennyroyal flower, the soft green of the sage, the white heart of the hellebore. They glowed in the lantern’s light, beaming at her. Waiting for her decision. She was in no rush—no one ever came at the infirmary so late in the night, so near to sunrise. And time she needed.

One tiny error, and she would risk her own life. If she was successful, though… 

Morrigan caressed her belly. The baby kicked, as if it had perceived her touch. She blinked in an effort to suppress the tears behind her eyes. Month after month, she had shared her own blood with the tiny creature growing inside of her. Slowly, day by day, that had become the new form of her body. 

It wasn’t about a foreign body anymore. The child had become part of her. How could she murder something that was her?

In contrast to her heart, she could hear the voice of reason. The pregnancy made her weak and frail, something she could not afford to be. Besides, she was no mother material—what kind of life could she offer to a child? Wasn’t it better to kill it in the womb, before it could experience Mother’s cruelty and a life on the run? Her child would have no father to protect him, or her, no one but herself. And she wasn’t even able to protect herself. The relic was nowhere to be found, Merrill’s Eluvian looked more and more a dead end. 

Would not drinking the abortion potion be an act of mercy?

Drawing a deep breath, Morrigan sat at the infirmary’s table and took the herbs in her hands. Without the child, she could feel powerful again. She could be the Witch of the Wilds once again.

“Don’t.”

She turned. Isabela was standing in the doorway, arms crossed and a painful expression on her face. 

“How did you get in? And why?” Morrigan muttered. She didn’t let go of her herbs, though. 

The Rivaini took a few steps in the room. There was nothing of her cocky attitude and her easy smiles. She was, in fact, deadly serious. 

“I saw you picking those,” Isabela pointed at the herbs, “up. And I happen to know what they are used together for.” She grimaced. “You see, my mother used to sell fertility amulets. Not that it ever served those women anything. In the end, you either have a fertile womb or you don’t.”

Morrigan remained silent. Whatever the pirate had to say, she deemed it important. And in the end, the potion could wait a few minutes. 

Isabela sat in front of her. The look in her eyes was almost pleading. “I’ve seen those women’s eyes. They were desperate to be… like you. And when they managed to, they were at their happiest. They came to thank my mother because she had gifted them a new part of them.” 

Those words left Morrigan speechless. Part of them. Part of her. It was exactly the way she felt. 

“The decision is yours,” the Rivaini concluded, a spark in her eyes. “Just be conscious of what you’re doing, should you decide to drink that beverage.” 

The sound of Isabela’s steps faded. Morrigan remained alone with her thoughts, the voice of reason whispering in one ear and the soft breath of her heart on the other.


	13. The loneliness of a throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Due to shocking discovery made in Kul-Baras, Adrian travels to Amaranthine to report to Commander Tamarel. Little he knows he'll remain there for a long time, in a role he'd never expected to take on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Game retelling is something I don't enjoy, but we all know there are game events to which, when we write fanfiction, we have to reference to. Thus, I tried my best to tweak Awakening's events a bit and use them to depict Adrian and his feelings about being Warden Commander. 
> 
> I hope it worked!

**_Dragon 31, Haring_ **

The broodmother's eyes were everywhere. In every shadow, in every stony wrinkle, in every distant sound. And each time Adrian closed his eyes, each half-sleep, he saw a hand covered in taint desperately clutching the stone before being dragged into the dark. Each time, that hand resembled his own a little bit more. Each time, it took more for Leliana to get him to fall asleep. 

Darkspawn don't feel emotions. Darkspawn don't kidnap Wardens, or living beings in general. Not even the Architect, whoever—whatever it was. How much had King Maric kept to himself? How much had the Wardens chosen to not reveal? Wardens were obsessed with secrets, Adrian had found out for himself. However, he also knew that something that had to be kept secret was a fact that too many would have trouble to stomach.

He was doomed to enter the Deep Roads to die, one day. Alistair was doomed, too. Were they at risk to be kept captive by a monster? Was that how Fen'Harel's claws would finally clutch him? There was no proof, he kept telling himself—the brooch might have belonged to a Warden who had completed his, or her Calling. No matter how many times he did, he knew. He had fooled himself from the start. There was no escaping the tainted blood in his veins, he had never been free to choose his own life. Once a Warden, always a Warden. 

He was leaving the Deep Roads. And yet, the shining sun and the sky would never feel the same to him.

* * *

Leliana approached him the fifth day of their march back to Denerim. He was no fool, he knew they had to discuss their findings, sooner or later. What they had seen was no material for a Queen's eyes, he should have traveled right to Weisshaupt and ask for orders. Sadly, the royal guards accompanying him and Leliana weren't blind, and there was no chance they could be convinced to keep their mouths shut. 

Perhaps there was a loophole. Something Leliana could spot. 

Adrian stared at her as she quickened her pace. She had slept even less than he had, during the nights before leaving Orzammar—there were dark circles under her eyes, Suddenly, he felt guilty. Maybe he should solve the dilemma by himself, without burdening her with his own responsibilities. After, he was the Warden, not she. 

“We have to decide what to tell to Queen Anora, Adrian,” she began. “You're the Hero of Ferelden. I'm not a Warden, and the darkspawn is a Warden matter. I can't decide by myself.”

“You know I hate when you call me He—“ he snapped, unable to contain himself. Damn it, she knew. Besides, did she have to remind him of that as if he was a child?

To his surprise, Leliana stopped and grabbed his elbow. Her brows were creased, her mouth was a thin line. “That's what you are! When are you gonna gr—“ she hissed, breaking off all of a sudden.

Adrian could only stare at her in disbelief. She never talked to him like that. What was wrong with her? How could she be so insensitive? She, of all people, knew what lay in his heart. 

“I'm sorry,” she finally murmured, caressing his arm and squeezing his hand. 

After a moment of hesitation, he squeezed back. She was tired, anguished, and shocked, just like him. “Alright,” he said, “let's go back to topic. Do you really think we have a choice? The guards were there. They saw everything. If we lie to her, she'll know.”

Leliana gestured him to keep walking and keep it quiet. Adrian turned back for a split second, and noticed how many pairs of eyes were on them. Too many curious eyes. 

“They saw, yes. But they're not aware of the significance it holds. And if we act smart, they'll never suspect,” she whispered. “I can deal with her. In the meantime, you could go to Amaranthine and inform the Warden Commander. She'll decide what's best to do.”

Slowly, he nodded. It could work. As always, she was right. Entwining his fingers with hers, Adrian murmured, “Will you join me in Amaranthine once you're done, ma vhenan?”

He looked at her as she smiled, beaming with happiness and pride. “I will. Have no doubt.”

 

**_Dragon 32, Wintermarch_ **

Adrian and Leliana parted at Amaranthine’s gates. Sitting in the saddle, he looked at her heading towards the Wendings Woods, together with the Queen’s royal guards. Shale had chosen to remain at Orzammar and try to live there as a member of the dwarven population. Perhaps, one day, find a way to reverse herself into an actual dwarf. 

Oghren, however, had chosen to remain with Adrian. He had nowhere else to go, he had bitterly remarked, and, he was good only at one thing: killing. 

As Adrian and Oghren approached the entrance gate, pacing slowly to prevent the horses from slipping in the snow, the two sentries moved forward. Adrian opened his cloak up enough to show them the Grey Warden heraldry on his armor. 

“We are here to speak with Warden Commander Tamarel. It’s urgent,” he stated. 

The two guards exchanged a brief, worried look. Their silence lasted less than ten seconds, but it was filled with tension nonetheless. Finally, the older sentry turned towards him. 

“I recommend you keep your weapons at hand, Warden. The population living nearer to the Keep has reported strange sounds. As if there were clashes inside,” he explained. 

Adrian flinched. He had met the Commander only briefly, but her resolve and her faith in the Order were branded in his memory. Besides, who would take care of the suspicious activities in the Deep Roads, if not her?

“And the city guard has gone and checked what the problem was, I hope,” Adrian retorted. 

When the two sentries looked at each other, avoiding his gaze, he understood. The answer was no. Whatever was happening at Vigil’s Keep, the Commander was alone in dealing with it. 

“Bah! He’s the friggin' Hero of Ferelden. He can manage whatever is going on,” Oghren exclaimed. 

Adrian shot Oghren a murderous look, ignoring the dismay on the guards’ faces. Now, everyone would expect him to snap his fingers and solve every problem. 

“Bleeding thorns! Let us through and be done with it!” the Warden snapped.

**_§§§_ **

Amaranthine’s gates opened on a deafening chaos. A huge crowd of citizens, men and women, soldiers as well as artisans and merchants, was standing outside the guard outpost. Several of them were pointing towards the Keep, far in the distance but still visible.

Adrian entrusted his horse to the nearest guard, signaling Oghren to do the same with his bronto. The crowd grew silent at his passage, eyeing him and whispering. The sentries, obviously, hadn’t wasted time. He grimaced, entering the city guard outpost and shutting the door behind him. 

The first thing he heard, loud and clear, was a woman’s voice.

“Do I have to beg you? Get your men at the Keep, Constable Aidan! Maker’s sake, the Wardens are being slaughtered. The place is flooded with darkspawn! You can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

Oghren and Adrian exchanged a look. They both quickened their pace—that voice sounded clearer and clearer just beyond the corner, in fact. 

“Are you sure, Recruit Mhairi? Is the situation so grim? The Commander has been clear. She made clear she takes care of those beasts. We’re not supposed to stick our nose in Warden busin—“

Adrian thrust the office door open, thereby exposing the griffon on his leather plate. His appearance silenced the Constable and Recruit Mhairi. 

“Warden Mahariel! It is you! I saw you months ago at the Keep,” Recruit Mhairi exclaimed, standing up. She was a tall, lean, dark-haired woman. A longsword hung from her left hip. “Come, we have to reach the Commander. She has news.”

Mhairi rushed to the door, only to stop when Adrian didn’t move. She stood by his side, staring at him quizzically. 

“Constable Aidan. Send your men to the Keep. Now,” Adrian commanded. Before the Constable could protest in any way, he added, “Should the Commander object, I’ll take the responsibility.”

**_§§§_ **

Adrian kept pacing around the Throne Room. He could feel Seneschal Varel, Captain Garevel, and Mistress Woolsey’s gaze upon him. They were standing, waiting for him to grant them his attention.

 _Weisshaupt… First Warden… Arling of Amaranthine… Warden Mahariel, Hero of_ _Ferelden… Arl of Amaranthine… Commander of the Grey of Ferelden…_

The words stared at him from the blood-stained parchment. He was ordered to rule an Arling, to rule the Wardens in Ferelden. The notice, he was told, had reached Vigil’s Keep even before his timely arrival, which meant Tamarel had been relieved of her duty even before her death. In any case, there was no refusing—the First Warden had to be obeyed. 

Adrian angrily crumpled the parchment. He could still smell the smoke rising for Mhairi and Tamarel’s pyres. Their same blood was still fresh on that same scroll. And yet there he was, on the verge of a political meeting. Would that madness ever end?

Someone behind him cleared his throat. 

“Commander, if I may… We don’t have much time. There are questions requiring your attention,” Varel stated. 

The Warden turned, finally facing his three advisors. Suppressing a sigh, he nodded. “Yes, Seneschal. I’m listening. Even better,” he gazed at Captain Garevel, barely containing the rage in his voice, “you may start by explaining to me how we lost all the Wardens, including the former Commander. Where did such a high number of darkspawn come from? How did they manage to take an entire fortress by surprise? Those monsters are not known for their stealth and their strategical mind. We’re supposed to be smarter than they.”

Even as he talked, Adrian was aware that he was missing something. Something vital. Darkspawn were not supposed to feel emotions, order their comrade to capture a Warden, wander around instead of seeking refuge in the bowels of the earth, either. Or talk, for that matter. _‘You think you know our kind, but this will change’_. As much as Adrian hated to admit it, the talking darkspawn was right. Something had changed already. 

Garevel stared back at him without blinking. “It was a carnage, Commander, I am very aware of it. We will never get our dead back,” he replied, with a hint of grief, perhaps guilt too, in his voice, “but we can avenge them. The former Commander, Warden Tamarel, had already located the split where those monsters may have come from—the day before the attack on the Vigil, two hunters, Colbert and Micah, reported the presence of a chasm in the Knotwood Hills. The hunters clearly saw some darkspawn hanging out around it.” After a brief pause, he added, “We had no idea they were planning to attack us. Besides, they’ve been unusually stealthy.”

Adrian listened intently, taking note of every information. Upon perceiving the sadness in the Captain’s voice, he regretted having been so harsh with the man. The one truly responsible for that disaster was Tamarel, and even she could not be truly blamed. Apparently, she hadn’t even had the proper time to react, not to mention the unpredictable behavior of the darkspawn. 

“Is there anything else, Captain?” Adrian inquired. 

“Yes, Commander. Due to the explosions used during the assault, some lower tunnels have been damaged, exposing the basement to a Deep Roads’ entrance. We need to repair them. Voldrik Glavonak can take care of it, but first, the basement has to be cleared from any… unwanted guests.”

“It will be done, Captain,” Adrian assured. He took a quick glance towards Mistress Woolsey—the woman was probably gonna be the worst nuisance, so he’d better get it over with. “Mistress Woolsey?”

The treasurer took a step forward. Her face was stern, and the practicality in her voice perfectly matched her facial features. “I am here to make sure that the Arling thrives under a Warden’s guidance. If we managed to do so, we would send the monarchy and the nobles a focal message, to be precise, that the Wardens are functional and needed even when a Blight is not plaguing our lands.” 

Adrian struggled to not grimace. So, not only was he expected to act as an Arl, but a perfect Arl, too. He was but a tool in the hands of the First Warden. Suddenly, he recalled Fergus Cousland‘s words—how he was now part of the field of power, and how he could either be a pawn or a player. They were proving to be truer than he thought possible. Sadly, he was but a pawn for the First Warden. But that didn’t have to be true for the rest of the world. All he had to do was wait for Leliana’s return. She knew what to do, she always did. And she was far more well-versed than he was in that kind of game. 

“To make sure that this Arling blooms, we need merchants willing to do business with us. In addition, to rekindle the trades, Pilgrim’s Path has to be secured once again. Obviously, the presence of darkspawn doesn’t encourage merchants to take the route.”

“It will be taken care for, Mistress Woolsey,” Adrian declared. He was no stranger to the life of a community, after all. Even at the Dalish camp, everyone had a place and a task, everyone had a role in making sure that the camp was secure and there was no shortage of food. As a hunter, he was well aware of his responsibilities. Nonetheless, he’d rather fight darkspawn all his life than have to deal with that kind of issues. Then, the thought struck him. Leliana. She was traveling on the Pilgrim’s Road. Would she be safe? He made a mental note of writing her once the blasted meeting was finished.

It was almost over. Only the Seneschal was left. 

“Commander,” Varel began, “I’d like to speak with you and your companions,” he pointed at Oghren and the apostate mage he had saved from the Templars’ grasps—Anders, that was his name, “alone.” 

Adrian gestured for Garevel and Woolsey to leave. They obeyed at once, bowing their heads at him. 

Once the Throne Room was empty, except for them, Varel spoke. “You told me you wish to recruit those men. Is that your final word?”

“It is. I am certain. Unless,” Adrian looked at Anders and Oghren, “they changed their mind. They deserve one last chance to step back, if they wish to.” Thinking back to his own Joining, his expression darkened. “I’ll never force the conscription on anyone.”

“You can bet on it, old man. That’s why old Oghren is here!” the dwarf cried out. 

On the other hand, Anders shrugged. “I guess it’s still better than going back to play hide and seek with the Templars.” The mage offered a broad smile. 

Varel glanced at both of them. “I’ll prepare the chalice for the Joining, then. We need to replenish the Wardens’ ranks as soon as possible. Also, about that, I suggest you find out where Kristoff, a Warden sent on a mission of which nature I’m not aware of, is. All I know is that he rented a room at the Crown and the Lion, and that we lost track of him.”

“I will look into it, Varel. Thank you,” Adrian replied. Varel looked genuinely worried for the Order and even for one single member of it. “Is there anything else?”

The Seneschal opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated for a split second. “You will need to welcome Amaranthine’s nobles and be witness to their oaths of fealty, Commander. Soon.” 

Adrian rolled his eyes. Politics again. 

Varel offered a brief smile. “I don’t like that part either. Sadly, it’s a necessary step—the sooner they swear their fealty to you, the sooner any scheme some of them may be plotting against you can be punished. Once they vow, you will officially be their Arl. And as such, untouchable by law.”

“Do you think they could… plot?” the Commander asked warily.

“In all honesty, Commander,” Varel took some steps around the hall, “I wouldn’t trust any of them. Some nobles were in Rendon Howe’s good graces, others despised him with all their heart. Just in case, if I were you, I would be wary.”

“Your counsel is appreciated, Seneschal. Truly.”

Strangely enough, Adrian already liked the man. He was blunt, practical, and, more importantly, he’d worked for with the Wardens long enough to know what the order required. It was more than he could ask.

* * *

_Ma vhenan,_

_please tell me you are alright. I was informed that the Pilgrim’s Path is not safe._

_I know you’re not a maiden in distress at all, but I’m worried nonetheless. Write_

_me as soon as you can. Or, even better, come to me in the flesh—however, warn_

_me beforehand once you’re ready to travel and I’ll send you an escort to meet_

_you. After all, I’m the Warden-Commander and the Arl of Amaranthine now._

_Adrian_

 

_Dearest,_

_you can sleep peacefully. I am fine. We had to face a couple of skirmishes on the_

_road to Denerim, but I promise, I wasn’t even scratched._

_In regard to my travel to Amaranthine, it tears me apart, but I have to break_

_the promise I’ve made to you. I won’t be able to be by your side. Reverend_

_Mother Dorothea has asked for my assistance, and you know that I simply can’t_

_refuse her. I’ll tell you everything as soon as I am free to come back to you._

_I’m truly sorry._

_Love,_  
_Leliana_

 

**_Dragon 32, Guardian_ **

Guardian had brought Amaranthine an icy wind from the north, more than one sea storm, and Sigrun, the Legion of the Dead’s scout he had met during the expedition already. He, Anders, and Oghren had met the dwarf and saved her from becoming a broodmother—then, the four of them together had stormed Kal’Hirol. Now, Sigrun was a proper Warden. He was slowly reconstructing the Order, Kal’Hirol had been purged of darkspawn. In addition, in a matter of weeks the damage of the tunnels underneath the Fortress could be repaired. All in all, Guardian had been a victorious month. 

And yet, Wintersend had come and gone. But not Leliana, not even a letter from her, not even a proper explanation. 

As Adrian walked towards the Council room, the hall he had chosen for Grey Warden meetings, he wondered how long he could keep the Commander facade up. He was and always had been a hunter. As long as he was asked to hunt down darkspawn and remove the threat, he was reliable. Whoever that Mother and that Father were, he was fairly confident he could take care of them. Not as much when it came to rule an Arling, though—and the Seneschal had made clear that he was called to be a political leader, too. Adrian wasn’t sure he could make it without her counsel. 

Upon hearing his fellow Wardens’ voices, the Warden Commander stopped in front of the door. Its wood was definitely not thick enough to keep in Anders’ laugh, the amusement in Sigrun’s voice, and Oghren’s comment on how he was going to kick the Mother’s ass. He grimaced. They were all utter fools, how could they speak of victory already?

Adrian opened the door wide, finding the three Wardens on the verge of making a toast. As he entered they froze in place, looking at each other with indecisiveness. He didn’t say a single word, never looking away. His expression had no doubt darkened, because they finally laid their glasses on the tables and sat back. 

“If you are done with this nonsense, perhaps we can discuss our next mission,” Adrian hissed. 

In response, both Anders and Sigrun moved their drinks farther from them. The mage was a cheerful soul, probably grateful to be out of the Templars’ grasp, but Adrian doubted he knew that he had jumped out of the frying pan into the fire. As for Sigrun, he had no idea how she could be so lively after having celebrated her own funeral and chosen to fight darkspawn for the rest of her life. The Warden stared at Oghren, waiting for him to put the glass aside as well. 

Oghren, however, did nothing of the sort. Instead, he snorted in annoyance. “Look, boss, I get it. You’re upset, your bard is not here and you barely had time to breathe after the Blight. But ya know, ya got to relax. We sent the bloody broodmother into an endless abyss, we got Kal’Hirol back.” He pushed the glass towards Adrian. “Have a drink. It won’t kill you.”

Adrian stared at him, stone-faced and silent. Somehow, he envied his old friend—unlike himself, he had chosen the Wardens. He had nowhere else to be. Nevertheless, if he had to command, he would do it in his own way. The better course of action was to completely ignore Oghren’s request. 

“Do any of you hold any knowledge on that Blackmarsh? The place where Kristoff has disappeared into?” he asked instead. 

Oghren grumbled, but never said another word. Sigrun simply shook her head—after all, she had lived in the Deep Roads all her life. Her denial didn’t come as a surprise. 

Anders, however, stood. “Only what I heard in the Circle and from Amaranthine’s people the one time I’ve been there. The third time I escaped, I think.”

“Which is?” the Warden Commander inquired. 

“Which is,” Anders replied, “we shouldn’t go there, Commander. People say it’s haunted. They say there was a village there, once, and now their lost souls haunt the place.”

Adrian scoffed. Haunted or not, not going wasn’t an option—leaving a Warden behind was not an option. “Truly enlightening, Anders. At least we know we will be risking our heads,” he began. He wryly added, “We risk life and limb everywhere we go. It’s not news that we’re heading somewhere dangerous.”

Anders shrugged, not even the slightest offended. “You asked, Commander. Now, if I may—“

Out of the blue, Captain Garavel knocked, opening the door immediately after. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Commander, but we caught a rather uncommon thief at the Keep. You might be interested in speaking with him yourself.”

**_§§§_ **

Adrian met the thief’s gaze with determination. He had been told the guy was a hardass, capable enough to nearly escape capture at the hands of three grown man. What he hadn’t anticipated was the burning resentment in those dark eyes when they met his.

“If it isn’t the great Hero, conqueror of the Blight and vanquisher of all evil,” the man started, standing up proudly. 

Not only was he well built and tall, no doubt direct and used to surviving by himself—for what other reason had he tried to sneak in the Keep alone?—but he also had an aura of pride about him. Somewhat like a noble. 

“And you’re not a common thief. Are you?” Adrian replied. He hoped the man was willing to change the subject and would not go on and on about how he was mighty and powerful. 

The prisoner twitched his mouth, surveying him in silence for a couple of seconds. “Either you’re not that boastful, or you think you can order me around,” he growled. “Whatever’s the case, you are the murderer of my father. I am Nathaniel Howe. Does that ring a bell?”

The former Arl’s son. The one who was supposed to inherit Amaranthine. If only Nathaniel Howe knew how gladly he would have given him the Arling back. “It does,” Adrian simply stated. He crossed his arms. “So, what are you here for? Revenge?”

Nathaniel didn’t react to that provocation how Adrian would have expected. His gaze filled with bitterness, he looked away. “My father wasn’t only the traitor who murdered the Couslands. He fought against the Orlesians during the Occupation, he helped to free Ferelden. And yet we lost everything! I wasn’t even in Ferelden until a month ago!”

There was rage in everything of him. His voice, his gestures, even his pace. And yet, as he turned towards the Warden Commander, his words were not what he expected. “Yes, I considered trying to kill you, Warden. But what would it serve? I’d rather get my family’s remaining things and leave. It’s all I have left.”

“You truly don’t hold a grudge against me? I am the one who killed your father, Howe,” Adrian remarked. His suspicious nature found it hard to believe that the Arl’s son truly didn’t want him dead. He knew he wished for the ones who harmed his People to suffer. And Nathaniel Howe was left with nearly nothing. Like him. Like Fergus Cousland. The realization hit him right in the stomach. 

Nathaniel stretched out his arms. “Look, there was a war, you won and you got the spoils. I get it. That’s simply how war works. I can’t say I like being shut out from my own home, but that’s what my family gets for my father’s actions. I included, sadly.”

Adrian paced around a cell for some time. Letting the man go was not an option—he knew the weight of bitterness and rage, and he couldn’t trust someone, anyone so full of both of them and also an enemy of his. He hadn’t the heart to execute Nathaniel Howe either. Just like him, he was a pariah, a victim of circumstances. Then, a possible solution struck him.

“What do you know about the Blackmarsh?” he asked Nathaniel. 

The Howe’s face filled with utter confusion. A bit unsure, he answered, “Something. When I was younger, I ventured into the area with some friends. It was a long time ago, but I still remember the chilling sensation in my bones every step of the way.” Now, he sounded a little nostalgic. That was also something Adrian could relate to.

“If you guide me and the Wardens in the Blackmarsh,” Adrian said, “you’ll be free to go once the task is done. Do we have a deal, Howe?”

Nathaniel stared at him incredulously. “Would you trust me to guide you in a place possibly dangerous already? Aren’t you afraid to end up with a knife in your back?”

“If you lead us in the wrong way, you’re probably dead, too. Aren’t you?” Adrian retorted. 

Howe sneered. “Good point. Fair enough, then. We have a deal.”

 

**_Dragon 32, Drakonis_ **

_The song of the Old Gods echoed in his mind, in his bones, in his heart. It sang_ _in his blood, and all he could do was dance to that tune. One step, two steps,_ _another one. Adrian wielded his daggers, ready to enter the darkness of the_ _Deep Roads. His Calling had finally reclaimed his body. Memories overlapped in_ _his mind. The days of the Fifth Blight. Dark locks, hungry lips, and limbs trembling with passion. The sincere smile, red hair flowing in the wind, a soothing touch. The Brecilian Forest, Tamlen’s steps behind him. The quiet demeanor of Merrill. He had lived. He could go. As soon as he left the comforting light of the torches, he perceived it. A presence, right in front of him. He clenched on the hilts. He was ready. He walked closer, and closer, and closer, and at last he discerned a tall form in the darkness._  
_“Finally, you come to me,” the emissary spoke._  


Adrian opened his eyes in the dark. He frantically touched his wrists, his arms, searching for the ropes restraining him. There were none. He was free. Trembling, he let out a deep breath. Only then he noticed how much he was sweating, and how the moon enlightened a room so similar to his own bedroom that it could only be where he was supposed to be—in Amaranthine, at Vigil’s Keep.  
He covered his face with his hands, sighing. That damned nightmare once again. Ever since their adventure at the Silverite Mine, that talking emissary had visited him in his dreams. When he had found himself chained to that litter, surrounded by the darkspawn and his ghoul, he had truly feared his worst nightmare had turned into reality. The monster’s apologies had only terrified him even more.  
If only he could remember what the beast had done to him. For days he had checked his body relentlessly, searching for any sign of illness, or even corruption. He had never found any. As time passed, he had felt surer and surer that the darkspawn hadn’t hurt him. What did it want, then? Why take prisoners, then be almost gentle to them? Even the talking darkspawn he had saved the Seneschal from was something altogether different. Adrian got up, searching his desk for those weird notes they had stolen in the mines.

Once again, he reread it all. And once again, he couldn’t make sense of those talk of Old Gods, blood as the key, or even what the emissary could wish of Seranni. And yet again, he found himself trembling his rage for what the darkspawn had done to Velanna’s clan. Their actions were unforgivable—not only they had brought death upon the Dalish, but they had also rekindled the conflict between them and the humans in Amaranthine. 

Suddenly, the image of that Warden brooch abandoned in Kul-Baras thaig flashed in his mind. What was the relevance of it?

Adrian shook his head. He had to get out. Perhaps, the fresh air of the night could help him to think clearly. 

For the first time in months, he left his room without his armor on, preferring a shirt, a common pair of trousers, and his cloak. He walked the Keep’s corridors, heading towards the balcony on the highest tower. There, was never any guard. It was the perfect place to clarify his mind. 

Adrian abruptly stopped right at the entrance—he wasn’t the only one who had decided to seek some quietness and solitude. Velanna had preceded him. 

The Dalish elf was standing with her back at him. For the first time, he saw her blonde hair loose, her slender form not wrapped up in the Skins of the Keeper but in more comfortable clothes instead. Bathed in the moonlight, she looked like Andruil herself. He lingered on her soft profile, and that was when he noticed her shoulders were trembling. In the silence of the night, Adrian heard her sobs. Velanna was crying. 

Suddenly feeling guilty for violating this moment she had clearly chosen to give vent to her feelings, Adrian took a step back. He had no right to be there and intrude upon her private moment—they met each other not long ago, but it was clear that she wasn’t the kind of person who liked to open up to just anyone and preferred to shield herself behind sarcasm. Just like Morrigan, a small part of him thought. He shook his head to dismiss the thought right after. Morrigan was an apathetic, opportunistic bitch, and luckily Velanna wasn’t and would never be her. 

Before he could retreat back into the dark, though, Velanna turned. The light highlighted the streaks of tears on her face, but also the deep-rooted anger into her eyes. 

“I am sorry. I will leave at once,” Adrian whispered. He managed to take a step away because her voice called him back.  
“Commander. Wait,” Velanna said. She remained near the balcony, staring at him. Obviously, in waiting. 

He took a couple of wary steps towards her, slowly enough to give her time to change her mind. She didn’t, though. She simply waited. Once he got by her side, Velanna finally talked.

“How do you do it, Commander? How do you bear it?” she demanded.

Adrian looked at her beautifully balanced face, once again surprised by how different elves and humans were—as enchanting as Morrigan and Leliana could be, neither of them possessed that peculiar grace of an elven woman. It didn’t matter if they were hunters or mages, the forest shaped them into something that could meld into the leaves and the trees without much effort. 

“How do I bear what?” Adrian asked in return. 

Velanna moved her hand around, pointing at the Keep. “Living here, far from our forest. Accepting humans as your companion in your fate.” Her voice turned harsh, bitter. “Being far from your clan and your family, never knowing where, or if, you will ever go back home.”

Not even Ashalle had ever understood that feeling, probably because she had never experienced it. Still, Velanna knew what it meant to lose a family, to lead a life where someone was not supposed to. For the first time since his appointment as Warden Commander, Adrian didn’t feel alone. For the first time, he felt he could talk about his longing and be utterly understood. 

“The only thing I can do, Velanna. I keep my family and my clan close to my heart,” he murmured, “I enjoy every bit of time I can spend in a forest, any forest. I truly live the emotion of the hunt each time there’s an enemy to bring down, and if I believe it enough I can imagine that my companions are my clan, and not the Grey Wardens.” He gestured at the moon. “I come outside at night, to breathe the air outside walls of stone.”

Adrian turned to look Velanna in her green, almost almond-shaped eyes. She was staring at him, intently listening to every single word. She didn’t talk, as if she awaited something more. Something different. He tentatively reached for her hand, without going farther than brushing his fingertips with hers.

“I had no choice. I could either die or become a Warden. And then the Blight happened,” he revealed. When Velanna didn’t pull her hand back, Adrian slowly entwined his fingers with hers. Despite the cold wind, her skin felt hot. And once again, she didn’t protest. “Do you think you had any other choice, Velanna?” Adrian asked in a whisper. “Performing the Joining was your idea, but—”

“I didn’t.” Velanna hastily freed her hand, breaking their eye contact, too, and turning her back on him. “I have no one to go back to or to reunite with, except Seranni.” She brushed her forearms with her hands, shivering. 

Disoriented by that sudden change of demeanor, Adrian remained still. He didn’t touch her again. “Did I make you feel uncomfortable?”

She gave him a quick look, avoiding his gaze. “Don’t make this about you, Commander,” she snapped. 

Without so much as a goodnight, Velanna went back inside, leaving him with a sudden sense of loneliness.


	14. The song of the nightingale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bitter surprise awaits Leliana at the Royal Palace of Denerim, in Anora's chambers. Instead of joining Adrian, she has to leave with Dorothea on a mission both holy and political. The first stops are Kirkwall and Ostwick...

_**Dragon 32, Wintermarch** _

 

“Tea?”

Sitting on a golden embroidered armchair, her hands tidily folded on her lap, Anora offered Leliana her most gracious smile. Her measured dress, her quiet face, and the rich, elegant yet plain design of the royal chambers denoted the image of a courteous woman, ready to be stern when needed but a simple soul as well. Nevertheless, Leliana knew better and was perfectly aware that the upcoming conversation would be far from comfortable.

“I’d appreciate that, Your Majesty. Thank you,” Leliana replied.

The Queen clapped her hands once, and an elven servant entered the room bringing a tray with two cups, one teapot, and two bowls, one full of lemon slices, the other of sugar. 

While the servant served them both the tea, Anora resumed the conversation. “So, I trust that your journey has been…” she paused to signal the serving girl how much sugar and lemon she wanted. Her manners towards the elf were abrupt enough to clash with the courtesy she was showing Leliana instead. “… if not pleasant, at least not too strenuous.” Anora smiled once again. She needn’t speak again—the unspoken question was quite clear. 

Leliana waited for the elven servant to leave the room before starting to speak. She used those precious seconds to review her story in her mind, a story where there was no lie, but the relevance of some elements had to be underplayed. Only when the door was closed, and she clearly heard the steps getting farther and farther, Leliana began her report. 

“The expedition passed through the Wending Wood with no particular trouble. We met some stray darkspawn, but we easily disposed of them. Warden-Commander Tamarel met us halfway, and once we identified ourselves as the members of the royal expedition she offered us the Wardens’ protection in reaching Amaranthine. Apparently, there are more darkspawn around than what would be expected after a Blight.”

The Queen slowly nodded at her words. There was no sign of anger or disappointment on her face, which meant that her guards had not supplied her with any additional information. “And now, the darkspawn in Amaranthine is a problem of the newly appointed Warden-Commander of Ferelden and Arl of Amaranthine, no less than your dear Hero of Ferelden.”

That piece of information took Leliana completely by surprise. Adrian? Warden-Commander? Arl of Amaranthine? 

Obviously reading the surprise on her face, Anora blinked. “Oh. I thought you had been informed already. Has he not written you to tell you the big news?” She briefly smiled, patting Leliana on her hand. “I’m sure he will. Soon.”

Adrian, an Arl. How infuriated he had to be. He always hated nobles, and now… Leliana recalled the threatening letter found in Orzammar. Did that mean that he was in even more danger? What if that P.A. had enlisted the Karta’s help? Could the Karta act so far from Orzammar? She couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t written her first thing, though. 

“You’re right. I’m sure he will,” Leliana whispered, staring blankly at her interlocutor.

“Please,” Anora continued, “resume your report. I am outrageously curious.” She was staring at her intently, no doubt feeding on the disappointment on her face. 

Leliana drove back her feelings. She had to do better than falling into the first trap laid on for her. “We arrived at Castle Cousland with no trouble at all. The Teyrn of Highever offered us his hospitality for the night, then the Warden and His Lordship spoke briefly in private, at Teyrn Cousland’s request.” She knew risked getting Fergus Cousland in trouble, but on the other hand omitting that detail would have been suspicious. 

“At Orzammar, we encountered a few obstacles.” The bard took a deep breath. Regarding the political situation in Orzammar, she had more than one reason to look troubled—the Queen certainly wasn’t going to like that news. “As you no doubt already know, my Queen, King Harrowmont rules together with the Deshyr Council. And… some of the Deshyr were reluctant in letting a group of humans in the Deep Roads, to investigate about something the dwarves have fought for centuries without any external help. Even if those humans were sent by the Queen of Ferelden. Of course, the King was more than determined to be of help.”

Anora raised an eyebrow. That gesture utterly revealed her annoyance in being defied as a ruler. “I see. Looks like the Blight has not changed Orzammar’s attitude. Pray tell, how did you manage to persuade the Council?”

Persuade the Council, she had said. Not King Harrowmont. Somehow, Leliana wasn’t surprised—Anora was, above all, a cunning leader, a woman keen to obtain all the necessary information to make sure she was successful and to use that information to her advantage. 

“Orta, the head of House Ortan of Orzammar, managed to turn the tide. During the Blight, Warden Mahariel helped her regain her noble status and her House by providing some documents proving that she belonged to House Ortan, so Orta saw fit to return the favor,” Leliana explained.

This time, Anora remained silent for a bit. She looked pensive, focused. Finally, she nodded. “Later, I want you to tell me all you know on this matter. Orta of House Ortan, Orzammar, and its political situation. However, you will finish your account first.”

The bard readied herself—that was the most thorny issue. At least, the royal guards knew nothing of the threatening parchment, but nonetheless, even the slightest hesitation could betray her and reveal to Anora that something wasn’t quite right. “The Deep Roads were quiet. Quieter than the Wending Woods, I must say,” she began. “Forgive me if I dwell on politics, my Queen, but it’s necessary. During our journey in the depths of the earth, a small number of King Bhelen’s supporters attacked us. I suspect they were hoping to take us by surprise by eliminating the element they obviously deemed as the most dangerous, namely the Warden.”

“Did they?” the Queen quietly asked, a sudden glint in her eyes. “I trust our Hero has not been injured, Leliana. And that King Harrowmont has been informed.”

Leliana tightened her lips. She didn’t like that glint, she didn’t like that casual tone either. “Their ambush failed, Your Majesty. You’ll be relieved to know that he didn’t get hurt, and that I personally informed the King.”

“Indeed,” Anora confirmed, smiling for a moment. 

If only Alistair was on the throne instead of that harpy. Making such decisions wasn’t easy, especially during a military emergency—Leliana didn’t really blame Adrian, but she began to think that placing Anora on the throne had been a huge mistake. Not only did he have an enemy, that enemy also happened to be the Queen of Ferelden.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Your Majesty,” the bard went on, “Kul-Baras is no place for men and women… There, the taint is everywhere. It is clear that more than one darkspawn has been there recently but apart from a dead, definitely murdered, bloodmother and the corpses of a few darkspawn laying around her, we found nothing of relevance.” She drove away the image of those strangely human eyes, and fell silent. 

The Queen stared at her in complete silence. She remained seated, she didn’t move a single muscle, her eyes never left Leliana once for several seconds. After a while, the bard had to fight the urge to shift on the armchair. She slightly tightened her grip on the armrests instead. Had she seen through her? Had she perceived her lie?

After what seemed an eternity, Anora stood in one fluid movement. “I see,” she said, walking calmly towards one of the windows, her back still turned on her. “I suppose you’re eager to travel to Amaranthine and be by your Hero’s side. Am I correct, Leliana?”

The bard repressed a sigh of relief. It appeared she was safe, after all. And Adrian with her. When she touched her hairline, she found it wet with a thin coat of sweat. Just that lie left—half a lie, actually, because she truly meant to go back to Amaranthine after having addressed the threat to Adrian’s life. “Provided that you don’t need my services anymore, Your Majesty, that was my intention, yes.”

The Queen turned to face her, her hands folded on her back. “Somehow our Hero reminds me of Cailan. Just like Cailan did, he needs the counsel of his loving woman in the matter of ruling. Running an Arling is surely a complicated issue… It involves a lot of maneuvers, and if one is not careful enough it can end with a knife in the back. Isn’t it true?”

Leliana stared at Anora, unsure of what she was expected to answer. Everything she had said was true, but she couldn’t just act like someone familiar with plotting and politics. 

“I… suppose,” Leliana muttered.

The Queen of Ferelden smiled cunningly. Her lips curved in the triumphant expression of the hunter who has caught her prey. “And who’s better than a former Orlesian bard, one who loves him dearly and whose loyalty can not be bought, to offer the right counsel to a greenhorn?”

Leliana opened her eyes wide. Unable to take that lump, she gasped. It wasn’t possible. Marjolaine was dead. Dorothea would never betray her. How could Anora—

“You are a rare specimen, Leliana. It’s not every day that a Queen can benefit from the skills of an Orlesian bard without fearing a heel-face-turn,” Anora continued, walking to her rounded table. She picked a couple of documents from it, surveying her with those icy, calculating eyes. “And I plan to exploit you as much as I need to, bard.” She gestured to the armchair. “You may as well sit. There’s much left to discuss, and you won’t be leaving any sooner.”

Her heart booming in her chest, the bard took the documents with trembling hands. “Specimen? Exploit?” she whispered. She finally understood. The Queen didn’t care at all for her feelings, her well-being, or even her desires. For her, she was but a tool. A dangerous one, though. Even nearly thirty years after the end of Orlesian occupation, Orlais was far from being above suspicion in Fereldan people’s hearts. Leliana slowly raised her gaze to face Anora. “Do you realize that once I walk through this door, I might let everyone know that the Queen of Ferelden is making use of the enemy? How do you think the Banns and Teyrn Cousland would take the news?”

The Queen’s smile widened, like a shark ready to enjoy her meal. “Don’t overestimate your importance, bard. You helped the Hero defeat the Archdemon, but you’re still an Orlesian. Do you really think anyone would believe you?” Shooking her blonde head, she added, “I am the anointed Queen. Their Hero chose me over his own friend, the Grand Cleric blessed me before crowning me. Most of all, the Fereldans don’t want any trouble. They don’t want to picture their Queen as a traitor. In addition...” she took another sip of tea, “we both know you’re bluffing. Your Warden is an elf, a Dalish no less, named Arl. The nobles won’t like it, and would like it even less if it was known that his lover is an Orlesian bard. He would be branded a traitor in a matter of days. You know that, I know that. So, spare me your bluff.”

Leliana lowered her head. Anora was right, once again. There was no choice but obeying her, submitting to her will. For a second, she cursed herself for having not been more discreet in her affection—but how could she know that her past would be back to torment her? 

“What do you wish of me, my Queen?” Leliana murmured.

Anora waved at the documents she had handed Leliana. “Read that parchment closely. You are to join your old friend, Mother Dorothea, in a tour of the Chantries in the Free Marches, Antiva, and Orlais. You will represent Ferelden, due to your contribution in ending the Blight and your past as Lay Sister. The alliance I’m building with Empress Celene will benefit greatly from your actions, and from the Chantry’s support.”

 

Still in shock, Leliana forced herself to read every single line. As much as she was miserable, at least Dorothea would be by her side. There was still something shady, though. Handing the Queen the documents back, Leliana asked, “Why me? Surely there are representatives of the Chantry more than willing to accompany an Orlesian mother.”

“Smart as I expected,” the Queen began, putting the parchments back in a drawer. “Simply put, bard, before I go further with this alliance I need to be sure I can trust the Empress. A common representative of the Chantry can’t smell lies like you can. You are to present me a full report of your tour, including in it everything that could be considered suspicious.”

Spying on Dorothea, the woman who had healed her wounds after Marjolaine’s betrayal. That was what the Queen asked of her. Leliana suppressed a sigh. “I understand,” she stated, flatly. “Am I free to go, Your Majesty? I believe I should meet with Mother Dorothea as soon as possible.”

“Not so fast, bard,” Anora declared. She took the steps needed to come face to face with her, staring right into her eyes. Now, in her behavior there was no trace of the courtesy she had shown her at the beginning of that conversation. “Don’t even think about running to your lover and tell him what’s happening. Don’t dare to betray me. Not a word with Mother Dorothea either. “

Leliana almost jumped at the coldness in those eyes. Even Loghain had shown more emotion than her daughter did—and yet more than once the bard had found herself in discomfort at the look of his clear eyes too. 

“If you don’t comply, Warden Mahariel will pay in your place. If you work well, on the contrary, I can make sure that his existence is not threatened again.” 

As much as a fake smile or a glint in her eyes were hateful, the true face of Anora MacTir was much more sinister. To the Fereldan she was a loving Queen, but in the wings she was a ruthless machine, ready to step on everything and anyone to make her country powerful and strong. Just like her father. 

“I understood,” Leliana assured in a feeble voice.

The mask of the benevolent ruler was immediately back on Anora’s face. “You are free to go, Leliana.”

* * *

For the millionth time during that night, Leliana tossed and turned. The beds the _Seabear_ offered her and Dorothea were moderately comfortable, certainly softer than the harsh ground of the Brecilian Forest she had endured so many times during the Fifth Blight. The weather was considerably mild for a winter, even the wind was not plaguing the Amaranthine Sea. Nevertheless, she recalled nights when, despite the lack of a proper sleeping bag and the constant fear of darkspawn, she had slept much better.

Sighing, she curled up, opening her eyes in the dark. If someone a year ago had told her she would have missed the Blight, she would have laughed. And yet she did. She missed the Blight. She missed a war where everything was simpler, where their enemies were in plain sight and there was no time for conspiracies, blackmailing, or plotting. Not much room at least. 

That same tour she and Dorothea were about to begin once the _Seabear_ would dock in Kirkwall could turn into a deadly trap. The Chantry was far more than a neutral organization merely interested in the spiritual well-being of Thedas’ people. Kirkwall, Ostwick, Starkhaven, Antiva City, Cumberland. Five cities, five Chantries, unlimited occasions to take a false step. And any false step could disappoint Anora, perhaps enough to put Adrian in danger. 

All of a sudden, Leliana flew into a rage. Once, she would have gotten rid of Anora without batting an eyelid. She had loved Marjolaine, yes, but Marjolaine had always known better than become a liability to the people around her. Why did she have to take the blows, every blow, in Adrian’s stead? To keep him alive, she had taken upon herself the burden of a dark pact between herself, Morrigan, and Loghain. To protect him from Orzammar’s political plotting, she had to take care of it in his place. And now, for his sake, she was forced to stay away from him and embark on a political mission she could have done without. Adrian never asked her to take up all those burdens, Leliana had to admit—at the same time, though, he always treated her like some perfect being able to withstand anything and anyone. Would he ever change, grow into someone able to protect her instead, for once in his life? 

The bard drew a deep breath, trying to calm down. Getting all worked up was no use. In the dark, Leliana discerned Dorothea’s silhouette laying in her own bed. Unlike her, her old friend was certainly sleeping soundly—she had, after all, her pure faith by her side. 

So many times, lately, she had deemed herself unworthy of the Maker’s love. So many times she had been afraid that He would never cast his gaze upon her. Where had her own faith got to? 

Leliana didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the tears falling down her cheeks. Her body shaken by sobs, she hugged her knees. She cried for Marjolaine, for the life she had left behind in Lothering, for her ill rage against the man she loved, for her lost faith in the Maker. 

 

A gentle, soothing hand squeezed her shoulder softly. Then the melodious, wise voice of Dorothea broke through the walls of her suffering. 

“Hush, my child. Shadows may fall, and you may even think that hope has fled,” Dorothea murmured, “but the dawn will always come. Listen to the nightingale. It sings more and more cheerfully as the night fades into day.” 

As Dorothea caressed her hair, and Leliana was a child once again. Her mama was by her side, ready to keep her safe against the whole world. 

“The nightingale’s song is one of beauty, immortality, and freedom from the world’s troubles. It speaks of hope. You are a beautiful soul, Leliana. Listen closely, and you’ll hear the nightingale’s song. Make hope your armor.” 

Leliana felt the touch of gentle lips on her temple. Already half-asleep, she smiled. Mama would prepare lemon cakes in the morning. 

 

_**Dragon 32, Guardian** _

If the size of the Maker’s statue towering in Kirkwall’s chantry was any indication of how strongly He held the city, the Chantry would be unstoppable. Sadly, the crying slaves’ statues that had greeted them upon entering Kirkwall’s port were almost as gigantic. 

Side by side with Dorothea, Leliana walked down the aisle. She breathed in the sacredness in the air, seeking refreshment from the dark whispers they had heard outside. The city reeked of blood magic, no matter how majestic the Chantry could appear. The Maker’s sword had not silenced those venomous tongues yet. 

“The city of chains. That’s how this city was once called. And maybe someone… the Gallows’ mages or the people of Darktown still call it so. Their chains have not been undone,” Dorothea said softly. 

Surprised, Leliana turned towards her friend. No doubt, her upbringing had been more than unconventional, but hearing a Reverend Mother talking like that was nonetheless amazing. “Are you saying we shouldn’t lock mages up? Those blood mages are—“

Dorothea threw her a scolding glance. “Desperation is the path that leads away from our faith and a cunning trap, Leliana. You know it well.” 

The last night on the _Seabear_ came at her mind. Her dark thoughts, her rage, the soothing touch that had driven her fears away. She had felt lost and, yes, desperate, but dawn had brought the nightingale's song with it. Shamed by her own pride, Leliana looked down. 

“I do,” Leliana admitted in a whisper. 

Dorothea flashed her a quick smile. 

Before either of them could add anything, the sound of a male voice and multiple steps reached her ears. 

“Please, Grand Cleric. If I don’t avenge my family, I’ll never be at peace. And I think I should take care of it myself. If I leave now, I can get to those bastards before—“

“This is nonsense, Sebastian. You won’t go anywhere. I won’t let you stain your soul, a Chantry Brother’s soul, with murder.” The Grand Cleric’s voice cracked like a whip.

Leliana lifted her gaze. Grand Cleric Elthina—it had to be her, according to what she just heard—was walking towards her and Dorothea, and the owner of that voice was trying to keep her pace. She couldn’t help but notice how charming that Sebastian was—his dark blue eyes were like sapphires, his features were proportioned, manly. Tall and lean, he could have towered over the Grand Cleric. He didn’t. As the highest religious authority of Kirkwall denied him her permission, the young man’s shoulders wilted, and he let out a sigh. There was deep, painful defeat on his handsome face. Not only that. The kind of grief that’s usually unspeakable. 

“You’re staring,” Dorothea murmured to her. 

For a split second, her eyes and Sebastian’s met. Then she looked away. She caught him with the corner of her eye as he left the Grand Cleric’s side and vanished behind a small, wooden door on his right. 

All that was left was the Grand Cleric. It took her a few steps to stand in front of them. Her facial features, Leliana noted, were stern, but there was something painted on them. Remorse. She took at the room where Sebastian had disappeared. 

“Ah, Dorothea. There’s no end to the struggles of a soul, as we are well aware of. Sadly,” Elthina softly said, “it doesn’t matter how many confessions we listen to. Each soul is unique, and Maker help me, I can’t seem to find a way to heal, or at least soothe, his. Guilt can hold a man’s heart so tightly.”

Leliana looked in surprise at the two women. They knew each other, that much was clear, enough to confide in each other in times of need. Elthina had clearly taken to heart Sebastian’s troubles. Before the Blight, Leliana had remained by Dorothea’s side enough to understand how guilt was indeed a wild beast to tame. And that sometimes there’s no healing hand except the one of the person stricken with it. Guilt, desperation—they were slowly becoming constant companions for her. She wondered what Sebastian’s burden was. 

“Maybe it’s not up to you, dear friend. Maybe he’s not ready to have someone reach out to him, or maybe he has to defy his own… demons by himself.” Dorothea paused. “Speaking of demons, we should talk. I will gladly help you in regard to that young man, too, if you wish to, but you know well that we’re here for an altogether different reason.”

Elthina looked away for a moment. When she turned back, she was stone-faced. Every emotion on her face had faded away. She gestured them both to follow her. 

Once they left the public section of the Chantry, the architecture became much more modest. The corridor leading to the Grand Cleric’s chambers was well-built, occasionally decorated with paintings of Andraste, the Exalted March, and scenes from the Chant, but all in all it looked much more sober. As did the chamber where she conducted them. 

“What of demons?” Elthina asked, shutting the door behind her. She turned towards Leliana. “And who might this one be? She’s not a Sister. Why did the Queen of Ferelden and the Empress of Orlais send her alongside with you?”

“There’s talk of blood magic in Kirkwall, Elthina. And many, many blood mages,” Dorothea retorted. She made no mention of Leliana, gesturing her to speak for herself.

Leliana took a step forward. “I am not a Sister, now. Nonetheless, I was a Lay Sister in Lothering. Then, I fought by the Hero’s side during the Blight, and even in the darkest times, my faith has been my weapon of choice. I know our Maker’s words, but I also know the people. What they want, what they fear, what they could listen to.” The lie flew out easily, perhaps because it wasn’t completely a lie. Leliana prayed that the Grand Cleric didn’t see the cracks in her faith.

But maybe she was—the Grand Cleric was staring at her, piercing her with her intense gaze. After several seconds, she spoke. “Just like you did, Andraste walked amongst the people, wielding her faith as her armor and weapon. Just like you did, she spilled blood. You could be the keeper of truths even a Grand Cleric ignores. We shall find out.”

Before Leliana could reply in any manner, Elthina turned towards Dorothea. 

“You are a woman of the people, too, Dorothea. You know that a population, any population, will always view an issue as more problematic than it truly is. Yes, there have been cases of blood magic. Knight Commander Meredith, though, is handling the situation effortlessly. The Queen and the Empress have no cause to worry, the Chantry is strong in Kirkwall.”

“Some people of Kirkwall also say that the Gallows are a cruel place for a human being to live in. Much more than other Circles. Now that Kinloch Hold has helped to defeat the Archdemon, the people wonder what we should do with mages,” Dorothea answered back. Leliana noted how, without even mentioning Elthina’s words, she had contradicted her interlocutor. 

Elthina twisted her mouth in disagreement. “I pity the mages in the Gallows. In truth, I pity every human being plagued with a force so susceptible to demons. Nevertheless, the Circles exist since the Nevarran accord. You know as well as I do that the Circles are necessary—one could go as far as to say a necessary evil, but nonetheless necessary. They will always exist. And as the Nevarran accord dictates, they will always be guarded and administered by the Templar Order.”

Leliana raised her head until she could look the enormous Maker’s statue in its metallic eyes. The whole reasoning of the Grand Cleric made sense, but there was something off. Something she couldn’t identify. Thinking back to Kinloch Hold, she didn’t see dangerous people in there. She had seen, and met, human and elven beings forced into welcoming a demonic power, others accepting it maybe out of fear of how the Maker would judge them should they just accept death at Uldred’s hands. Others, again, had fought the whispers of demons and had made it out of that carnage alive and still pure. Then, those same mages had risked their life to save a world ready to have them confined once again after the Archdemon’s death. 

Dorothea took a step forward. She wasn’t going to back down at all. “You have a situation here, Elthina. On one side, you have Kirkwall mages treated like their kind has never taken arms against the Fifth Blight. On the other, you have blood mages once again proving the point that magic is dangerous. The Queen and the Empress wish the Chantry to be the beacon guiding the souls of Thedosians, but we can’t do that if we have to deal with a potential crisis in Kirkwall.”

“There is no crisis,” the Grand Cleric harshly declared, crossing her arms. “Plus, you forget your place, my old friend. I am the Grand Cleric here, and yet you step inside my Chantry claiming you know better than I what’s happening in my city.”

Dorothea opened her mouth to speak, only to be quietened as Elthina held out her hand and signaled her to stop. “I’m truly sure there’s no crisis. I can only promise that, should I be wrong and shouldn’t Kirkwall be able to handle it, I will seek out your and the other Chantries’ help.” She took a step towards the door making clear that the discussion was over. “And now, I’ll show you your rooms.”

**_§§§_ **

The following night was far from resting, for Leliana. She had tossed and turned, trying to banish her doubts from her mind without success. When she had finally managed to fall asleep, distressing dreams whose content she was unable to remember had ruined the little sleep she had managed to enjoy.

Now, she was leaving her room accompanied by a devastating migraine. In that regard, at least, the calmness of the Chantry was a blessing. She left the dorms area, heading towards the altar. Not even a migraine like that one could keep her away from her prayers.

As Leliana arrived in front of the altar, though, she stopped. Sebastian was kneeling in front of it, his hands conjoined, his eyes closed. She knew his soul was troubled—had she any right to intrude? She slowly began to walk back, with every intention to come back later. 

“The Chantry is not mine only. Everyone is welcome to advance and speak to the Maker.”

His voice stopped her before she could reach the stairs. Still, she hesitated and remained still. Even talking seemed out of place. 

Without standing, Sebastian turned to look at her. In his sapphire eyes, she read the same torment that had been there the day before. 

“Please, come forward. I insist. I have no right to deprive you of your prayers,” he whispered.

Only then, Leliana decided to accept his invitation. She closed the distance between them, and knelt as well. Taking a deep breath, she waited. In light of her actions, if the Maker didn’t want her there, in front of Him, He would send her a sign. 

Nothing happened. Leliana’s muscles relaxed. 

“Every time I kneel in front of Him, I feel even more ashamed for my sins, for the way I once cared for pleasures only. And still, this is the only place I can feel at peace,” Sebastian murmured. He shot her a brief glance. “Do you know what I mean?”

Leliana remained silent for several seconds. Sebastian’s words reminded her of the way she basked in the Maker’s light as a Lay Sister in Lothering. “I do,” she confirmed. 

“Now that my family is gone, my faith is all I have.” He paused, his body trembling for a moment. “All I should have. I loathe my desire for vengeance and my rage against Him for having taken my family away, but at the same time I can’t forsake it. What if this was a test? What if I’m failing in putting His precepts before my petty, earthly desires?”

Exhaling, Leliana closed her eyes. So, he was going through a crisis of faith, too. She was the last person he should seek counsel from, and yet there she was by that man’s side in a time of need. “We’re flawed by nature, Sebastian. Sometimes making mistakes is the only way we have to become more worthy of His love. Perhaps, you are bound to give in to these flaws, to repent and then to truly open your arms to Him.”

“Or maybe, he’s punishing me both for my previous outlook on life, both for my current lack of faith,” Sebastian muttered. 

The realization struck Leliana. She herself had asked the Maker to punish her for her deeds, and to spare Adrian. Now, He was, and she was ungrateful enough to blame Adrian for her burdens. “You didn’t take any oath when you were younger, Sebastian. You hadn’t experienced His light yet. The Maker doesn’t punish the ignorance of the soul.” 

Shaken, she abruptly stood up and turned his back on him. 

“Wait,” Sebastian called. Her right foot in the air, halfway between the first and the second small step, Leliana didn’t move further. In a matter of moments, Sebastian was by her side. He looked regretful.

“I clearly have troubled you. It was not my intention, I am sorry,” he began. 

The sincerity of his apology was clear in his voice. Suddenly, Leliana felt warmed by such a gentle heart. 

“Even worse, I expected you to take care of my burdens when you clearly have your own.” He quickly added. “Just like anyone. I don’t presume to know anything about you, My Lady.”

That humility was a refreshing change from a world made of nobles, political figures, and the Dalish pride. She found herself staring curiously into his eyes. 

“You don’t even know my name. Why did you bare those feelings to me?” she asked. 

For a moment, Sebastian looked confused. Then, pensive, as if he was exploring his own soul. When he finally looked at her, there was no doubt in his eyes. “Part of me knew I could trust you,” he revealed. “As for your name… Would you mind telling me? You know mine, after all.”

Leliana extended her hand to Sebastian. “I’m Leliana.”

* * *

Bann Trevelyan took a sip of sherry, looking at Leliana and Dorothea through the glass. He had piercing black eyes and a fox-like face. “We heard of Kirkwall’s misadventures, yes. Didn’t we, Florence?”

Florence Trevelyan, a short, lean woman with sharp facial features and flowing blonde hair, nodded. “The silk merchant told us some time ago. A weird story about possessed Templars and blood magic.” She briefly admired her perfectly shaped nails. “Nothing more than rumors, maybe. I wonder, though, who could make up such a rumor just for fun. The idea of a possessed Templar is beyond my wildest fantasies. 

“However, if you, a Revered Mother of the Chantry sent by none other than the Empress of Orlais, urge us to keep an eye on Kirkwall, there might be something true in the merchant’s rambling,” continued Bann Trevelyan. 

“If it’s true, it’s truly a disgrace. No seriously dedicated Templar could fall under the influence of dark magic.”

The owner of the voice, Lance Trevelyan, the youngest son of the Trevelyan family, spoke for the first time. Until now, he had sat lazily in his armchair, content with studying his guests with a mix of discretion and curiosity. Several times during the conversation Leliana had perceived the adolescent’s eyes on her. 

Neither of his parents commented on his intervention. Their eyes, though, beamed with pride.

“Would you mind narrating us this… weird story, My Lord and Lady?” Dorothea asked, breaking the silence. 

The Bann waved his hand. “Later, Revered Mother. Now, let us discuss this… Chantry unity both the Queen of Ferelden and the Empress of Orlais wish for. I must confess that My Lady and I are quite eager. You couldn’t have chosen a better interlocutor in all the city of Ostwick. And if I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion, once you arrive in Antiva City seek out the Montilyets. They’re dear friends of our family, who will welcome you with open arms.”

**_§§§_ **

Modest in temper, bold in deed was the Trevelyans’ motto. And Leliana had to admit that their mansion precisely suited a Bann. Modest, in its own way. The same could not be said of their library, though—the room was twice larger than Lady Cecile’s had been, and every tome was kept impeccably clean. As much as her eyes were scrupulous, she could not locate a single grain of dust. This library was different from Cecile’s in another regard too. While the woman who had raised her loved novels and stories, the Trevelyans’ main field of interest was the Chantry.

In front of Leliana’s eyes paraded theologic books of every kind, essays about the First Blight and the role of Magister, hymns, anthologies. The Lay Sister stopped in front of the most secluded, shadowed section of that shelf. Her eyes widened. Even during her stay at Lothering she had rarely stumbled upon tomes regarding the Inquisition. 

“Into darkness, unafraid.”

The youngest Trevelyan’s voice took her by surprise. Leliana turned. Lance Trevelyan was standing behind her, arms folded, a thin smile on his lips, leaning against the window. Despite his young age—he was sixteen years old, if she recalled correctly—he looked like a gentlemen already. But more importantly, there was a cunning in his eyes seldom seen in young men like him. Behind his proud facade, there was undoubtedly a quick mind at work. After all, there had to be a reason why his parents had summoned him on the occasion of their meeting with her and Dorothea. 

“The Old Inquisition motto. It’s a piece of uncommon knowledge, My Lord,” Leliana politely replied. 

The adolescent moved away from the window, walking towards her. He surprised by taking hold of her hand and kissing her palm. He barely brushed his lips on her skin, like a seasoned Lord would have done. As he let go of her hand, his smile widened. 

“I’m flattered you consider the extent of my education… uncommon. But I’m even more flattered by having been able to impress the heroine of the Fifth Blight,” he replied, locking his gaze with hers. “It not every day that I get to meet a beautiful woman, skilled with weapons and of a sharp mind, who has been able to use her resources no less than to save the whole word from the darkness brought upon us by the Tevinter magisters.” He cocked his head to the right. “I might go as far as saying that you resemble the Old Inquisition. You’re a pillar against darkness.”

Were Leliana younger and less experienced in the world, she would have blushed at that obvious attempt at flirting. Instead, she lowered her head and handled the interaction with mere politeness. “Thank you, My Lord. I don’t expect to be thanked for what I did. In addition, I have no doubt we all know there’s only one Hero of Ferelden. The one who put together the army and guided it in battle.”

“The Hero of Ferelden deserves all the praises he gets,” the young Trevelyan agreed in a neutral tone of voice. When he resumed talking, few moments later, his voice was once again ingratiating. “As you do, My Lady. If I may be so bold...” He looked at her questioningly, giving her time to decline in advance whatever request he had on his tongue. 

“Yes, My Lord?” Leliana asked. 

“… it would be my pleasure to train with you, just one time, before you and the Reverend Mother leave. I’m practicing the use of daggers, so what better teacher than you?”

It was a reasonable request. One Leliana couldn’t refuse without offending the family. “I gladly accept, my Lord.” 

As she left the library together with Lance Trevelyan, she wondered where the catch was. A young, handsome man, perfectly polite, an excellent student. There had to be sin somewhere. Perfection belonged to the Maker only.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad to introduce you the pre-Hawke Sebastian and the Inquisitor to be :)
> 
> I'm having much fun writing this story and woving characters and events together.   
> This chapter in particular, though, made me struggle a bit. Being almost an atheist, it's not easy to think like Leliana. And policits... Well, politics is always a tricky matter.
> 
> As always, any kind of feedback is welcome!


	15. A whole new world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan is at a dead end. And to make matters worse, an expected, unwanted visitor comes to Kirkwall... bringing unpleasant consequences. 
> 
> And then, her world becomes brand new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing about motherhood has been really difficult, and [my awesome beta](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mille_libri/pseuds/mille_libri) has provided some brilliant insight about that. And about the whole chapter as well. 
> 
> Hopefully, mothers can relate to the way I described motherhood, at least a bit :) 
> 
> Also--a big, smiling welcome to any new readers. I hope you'll all enjoy this reading ride!

**_Dragon 32, Wintermarch_ **

Every step felt heavier and heavier, her overwhelming failure weighed on Morrigan’s shoulders.  
Clan Evune had turned out to be a dead end. 

_“The Templars will come for me soon, Josmael. If the clan tries to resist, they will wipe the whole clan out. “_  
_“Are we really supposed to run from those humans, Keeper Yevven?”_  
_“Lead the clan away from Kirkwall, First. As Keeper, it will be your duty to keep our relic safe, da’len. Should the Mask of Fen’Harel end up in the wrong hands, the Veil would be torn. You can’t let this happen.”_

The Keeper’s words were branded in her memory. The relic Isabela had pointed her to was nothing but a dead end, Merrill wasn’t going to spill her secrets.

Morrigan had nowhere else to turn to. 

She could almost hear Mother’s laugh and her mocking words. _‘Did you really think you could escape from me, girl?’_  
Panting, she leaned against the rocks bordering the trail leading out of the Planasene Forest. Perhaps Mother was right. Perhaps she had no chance, and killing her baby in the womb would have been the better choice. Instead, she had allowed her heart to decide, ignoring any rational voice in her head. As if listening to her emotions had ever done her any good. Apparently, she was a bigger fool than she thought–her will to save Adrian’s life despite his betrayal had led her to that whole mess, to being defenseless and pregnant. She could have walked away and refuse to perform the Dark Ritual, but against her better judgment she had chosen to lay with Loghain instead. 

For the first time, she truly realized it—she had possibly compromised her own future for the sake of Adrian. The prospect of revenge, the desire of haunting his life with the enigma of her actions, was nothing but a mask for the most foolish thing she had ever done in her life. 

She wasn’t sure she could forgive him, for being the cause of her misery, or herself, for her own unforgivable naivety. 

There was only one way to put that right. Leave Kirkwall, keep running.

But the midday sun beat down on her head more and more step by step. Morrigan never saw the dizziness coming. When she fell on her knees, struggling to keep nausea at bay, it was crystal clear— she was in no condition to travel. Morrigan cursed her own stupidity and Adrian Mahariel once more.

* * *

Cut, mash up, mix.  
Cut, mash up, mix.

All Morrigan’s life had reduced to preparing herbal remedies. Trapped in Kirkwall, a slave to her own pregnancy and her child-to-be, all she did was wait. She waited for the delivery, fully knowing that her mother wanted her baby and would come to get it. When she was awake, she hated her swollen belly and the human being growing inside it—but when she was drowsy, she tried hard to perceive the beating of its heart. And in the moments before falling asleep, she reached out to her unborn son until she could, before Mother came to take it away, wishing with all her heart to find a way to keep it in her arms. 

Day after day, Morrigan grew more resigned. Night after night, the inevitable separation from her baby cut deeper and deeper. 

Cut, mash up, mix.  
Cut, mash up, mix.

After a time, that routine turned into a comforting embrace that allowed her to forget her troubles. Hawke’s teasing, the fear of being unmasked by Isabela and Merrill’s worried glances didn’t matter anymore.

* * *

Morrigan nearly spilled the healing potion she was working on.

That voice.

His voice. It couldn’t be. How was Alistair in Kirkwall? Why had he entered Lirene’s shop? What were Hawke and her friends doing with him, laughing and chatting?

Her heart boomed in her chest. Alistair knew her, he knew who she was. Not Laela, the woman come seeking refuge from the Blight, but Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds who had traveled with the Wardens and fought darkspawn for a whole year. The worst part was that he despised her. 

Then, between the laughs and the whole nonsense, she heard the drunkenness in his voice. She sighed in relief. He was drunk, and he was speaking nonsense. 

Another voice, though, spoke clearly in her thoughts. The Antivan, claiming how wine could reveal anyone’s secret. What if Alistair was spilling all his secrets to that band of misfits? She carefully took a couple of steps towards the closed door separating the infirmary and the central room of the shop. She had to know. So, she leaned her ear against the wood and listened. 

“… and then he chose the bastard. He let that t-trollop with blond hair exile me. Me! The prince of Ferelden! I thought we-we were friends,” Alistair was saying, his speech slurred, his tone whining. “It should have been me, not Loghain!”

“So, are you telling us the fabled Hero is a scumbag, Alistair?” Varric inquired.

Morrigan pressed her lips together. Of course, Varric was looking for a saucy story. The dwarf did nothing more than that, after all. Collecting stories. 

“He betrayed me. He was my friend and he betrayed me!” Alistair cried. The sound of a fist slammed on the table echoed in the room. “And Loghain lives! The bloody Joining is a disgrace. It failed in killing Loghain. Now that he’s one of us—them, what are the Wardens good for? He’s gonna poison them!”

“Ooh. How about we call the novel The true story of the Fifth Blight’s Wardens, Varric? Isn’t it perfect?” Hawke twittered. 

“Duncan will never forgive me. I should have stopped it from happening. I’m not—” Alistair went on. Without any notice, his head slammed on the table and he started sobbing. 

“There you go, sister. Good work, you’ve done it. Now we’ll have to hold this miserable drunk’s hand while he sniffles,” Carver Hawke snapped. 

“Carver!” Vivianne hissed. 

Morrigan heard steps coming closer and closer to the door. Panicking, she took a look at the backdoor—if someone was about to enter the infirmary, she had to leave. Firstly, they wouldn’t be pleased to catch her eavesdropping on them. But most of all, she couldn’t let Alistair see her. Morrigan began walking back, ready to leave the room, when the steps stopped. The door didn’t open. One second later, she heard Vivianne’s voice.

“Would you mind playing along? We need that map, brother, in case you’ve forgotten. And he’s the only Warden we’ve met. I offered him three drinks to have him talking and convince him he could trust us,” Vivianne whispered in anger. Her voice turned quieter. “Could you trust me for once? Just once?”

Carver sighed. “Sister, I don’t think he can be of h—“

“You!” Alistair barked, all of a sudden. 

Even from behind the door, Morrigan heard the Hawkes flinch, and a chair being dragged. 

“What’s your problem?” Carver growled. 

“You sound exactly like her. The fuckin’ Swamp Witch.”

She heard Carver’s voice once again. “What are you babbling about?” 

At the same time, the infirmary backdoor opened. Lirene stood in the doorway, staring at Morrigan with a questioning look. “What is happening in there, Laela? Why are you eavesdropping?” the woman asked. 

Morrigan stared back, unable to utter a word. There was no simple answer. Before she could speak up, Alistair ranted.

“The Swamp Witch. The Witch of the Wilds. Morrigan. Call her whatever you like. She’s the reason why the Warden allowed the blonde bitch to exile me. She has corrupted him, she must have bewitched him!”

Lirene marched towards her and the door. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll find out by myself. I swear, if Hawke is behind this mess—“

“I tell you, it’s all her—“ Alistair continued.

Before Morrigan could move away, Lirene opened the door wide, exposing her in plain sight. Morrigan and Alistair’s eyes met, and she saw the Warden’s eyes widen in shock and rage. Everything fell silent for a long moment.

“—YOUR fault!” Alistair pointed at her. “Don’t believe a word of that treacherous mouth. She will poison you all, like she did with the Hero! It must be her fault!” He almost stumbled on a chair, only to be held up by Vivianne and Isabela. 

Now, all eyes were on her. Varric and Vivianne were looking at her curiously, Carver seemed suspicious. Strangely enough, Isabela’s look was almost sympathetic. 

“What is he talking about, Laela?” Lirene asked, her arms crossed. In her eyes, Morrigan could read worry, suspicion, and even a trace of delusion. Maybe, also the small hope that she could, after all, clear everything up.

Morrigan took a step back. Her cover had been blown. Lirene wouldn’t believe her, that much was clear, and anyhow, what she could say didn’t matter. Alistair would eventually sober up, and confirm every word. Not everyone trusted a drunkard, but a sober man was a different question. Especially when the deception was so obvious. 

Unless… Morrigan took another look at Alistair, who had now fallen into silence and despair once again. Perhaps she could reason with him, someway. It was her only chance.

“I can explain, Lirene,” she said. “Please, just not in front of them.”

With a curt nod, Lirene accepted her proposal. Before leaving the room, she turned towards Hawke and her friends.

“Take care of that man and sober him up. I won’t send him back on the street in that state.”

**_§§§_ **

As Morrigan walked back to her room, she could hear Lirene’s steps behind her. Her brain was working rapidly—she needed to make a decision. If she lied, Alistair could discredit her, and there was no telling whether she would be able to convince him to not ruin her. On the other hand, telling the whole truth wasn’t an option. The moment she turned the handle, Morrigan knew. Telling part of the truth, just enough to retain her place at the shop, could be enough.

Lirene entered the room first, arms crossed and a determined expression on her face, silent. 

Morrigan stared right at her, trying to gather the necessary courage to put herself and her baby at risk. She needed that room, that job. At least until she could leave Kirkwall. Looking at Lirene, watching her expectantly, she found herself at a loss for words. The last time she had opened up to someone, she had ended up on the run and alone. But what other choice did she have?

“There’s some truth in that man’s words, Lirene,” Morrigan began.

Inexplicably, Lirene exhaled in what looked like relief. “I’m glad to hear you say that. It’s comforting that you don’t take me for a fool and don’t try to force a lie down my throat.” Letting her eyes rest on Morrigan, the woman added, “Now the question is, are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

In an impulsive gesture of self-defence, Morrigan turned her back on Lirene. To her surprise, that woman had kept her safe and nurtured her. Taken aback by how well she had handled her deception, Morrigan wondered if she could actually be trusted. If she was able to trust anyone. 

“No,” the Witch of the Wilds whispered. She turned to face Lirene. “You ask me too much. Trusting someone—anyone, is beyond my capabilities. All I can do is reassure you that I’m not your enemy, and that I didn’t hide my past to harm you. I did it for myself.”

Sighing, Lirene took a few steps towards her. “Don’t think you’re the first one who comes to Kirkwall with a complicated past. I always lent a helping hand to the refugees, and I never asked once what laid in their past. However, I haven’t welcomed them into my home, they didn’t work for me. You do. I don’t demand that you tell me every single detail, but I can’t keep you here without even knowing your real name. See, what I do here is dangerous. I can’t keep you around if you give me no reason to trust you.”

Morrigan looked away. Lirene was right, of course. And yet she had to find some way to convince her, even if it meant revealing something of herself. “Please,” she murmured. “I… I have magic. I can help, and I will if you let me. I will leave for good once my baby is born.”

“Magic, huh? Somehow it makes sense,” the woman commented. She had a pensive look on her face. For several seconds, she frowned without talking. Then, she looked right at Morrigan once again. “Can you heal people?”

Morrigan beamed. Maybe there was hope. “I can. I’m not a healer, but I possess some knowledge.”

Lirene stared at her thoughtfully for a few seconds. The caring, compassionate look usually filling her eyes was replaced with a much more calculating one. Nonetheless, the words coming from her mouth were gentle and quiet. “I’d never turn a mage in to the Templars, you know that. And you know I need help. You are very clever, so you’re also certainly aware of how you’ll be in danger by helping us. Still, you feel like you don’t have any choice. Do you?”

Amazed, even stunned, Morrigan was talked down. Nothing in the world could convince her to confirm that strikingly right analysis, or even nod. Apparently, she had always underestimated Lirene. Beyond the caring woman, there was a smart one. 

Lirene waved her hand. “You don’t need to answer. Here’s the deal. You will help Hawke once in a while, when she will need some help. However, as I said, I can’t have you in my house under these circumstances. I’ll pay you this month’s wage, so you should have enough money to pay for a room somewhere for these two months left. Also, since your child is certainly not at fault, you can come to us when it’s time to deliver the baby.” She crossed her arms. “That’s my best offer.”

Staying at the Hanged Man, amongst the drunkards? Still better than the street or Darktown, nonetheless not the outcome she would have chosen.

“I accept,” Morrigan stated.

**_§§§_ **

Those were her last minutes at the haven that had been Lirene’s house. The woman had allowed her to sleep there for the night, but nothing more. And now, all packed up and ready to go, Morrigan was spending her last moments of comfort in Alistair’s company. She quietly sat, looking at the Warden’s face as he slept on the infirmary’s bed. No doubt, he was now past the hangover and would be awake soon. Morrigan was pretty sure that, just like she would rather be at work instead of getting ready to speak with him, Alistair would prefer an agonizing hangover. She, however, had no other choice. Somehow, she had to convince him to not go around pointing his finger at her. Lirene had been lenient, others wouldn’t.

Suddenly Alistair opened his eyes. Finding himself staring at her, he let out a groan and almost jumped out of bed. When the bed stood between them, he looked at her warily. More than warily, Morrigan noticed. In his eyes danced something truly similar to resentment and scorn. 

“And here I thought I was hallucinating. You, of all people, are truly here,” Alistair began. 

His voice was filled with bitterness, without any hint of levity. Weirdly enough, even though the two of them had quarreled non-stop during their travels, their bickering had almost sounded playful. Now, Morrigan noticed, the end of the Blight had stolen his naivety from him. The man in front of her had lost his faith in everything, and now saw the world as it was. She needed to handle him carefully.

“We need to talk about what you said last night, Alistair,” Morrigan replied, choosing the quiet approach. She struggled to ignore the smell of alcohol in his breath and to refrain from any snarky comment. Even now, the person she used to be shouted, asking to be set free. 

Alistair looked askance at her. For a moment, rage inflamed his gaze. “Wrong. You don’t get to order me around. The last time I let someone else lead, I got exiled and ended up drinking every fucking night at a smelly tavern. So no, I don’t need to do anything.”

He moved around, grimacing as the sunlight hit his face. Obviously, his head still hurt. 

“Where the heck is my backpack?” he grumbled. He shot a quick look at Morrigan. “And why haven’t you turned me into a toad, or spit your venom on me?”

Morrigan exhaled. Her instinct was boiling inside her, telling her to crush him, to put him in his place. On the other end, those last months had taught her to be careful and not underestimate other people, especially, people she didn’t know. And she definitely had no idea who this ‘new’ Alistair was. 

In the end, she decided to try a fresh start. “Look, Alistair, we’ve had our differences, I’m well aware, but now everything is different. What you said about our past... I—“

“Really!?” Alistair asked, turning towards her with fury. He took a few steps towards her, grimacing. “Let me break it to you, Morrigan. The world doesn’t revolve around you and your problems. Maybe you managed to wrap Adrian around your little finger, but I’m not him.” He lowered his gaze on her swollen belly. “Is that him who left you alone with the burden of a child? I hope so. Maybe he’s finally realized you are a bitch.”

Before hearing the cracking sound of the slap and spotting the red stain on Alistair’s cheek, Morrigan didn’t realize she was the one responsible for all of it. She had let the fury take control of her, move her own arm. Breathing heavily, she recalled the moment she had found out about Adrian’s treachery, Mother’s victorious grin, months and months of morning sickness. Before she could stop them, she felt her own tears wetting her face. She glimpsed Alistair’s amazed expression for just a second before turning and hiding her face in her hands. 

The room fell into a deep silence. All the resentment between them had disappeared, at least for now, replaced with uneasiness. 

“Maker’s breath,” she heard him whisper. “He is a traitor, but I had no idea he had something like that in him. Did he real—“

“What happened doesn’t matter,” she snapped, without facing Alistair. Telling him who the father of her child was, how she had saved Loghain’s life, was out of the question. She quickly dried her eyes, turning back to him and meeting his shocked gaze. “I will leave Kirkwall after the delivery, Alistair, and for my baby’s sake I need to keep quiet. I won’t go around placing hexes on anyone. I’d be...” she hesitated, fighting her own nature, “...grateful if you didn’t go around revealing my identity and our personal matters to the whole Hanged Man. All I wish is to not be disturbed.”

This time, Alistair remained silent and listened. He was confused by her demeanor, that much was clear. As much as he was a stranger to her now, he probably wasn’t sure he recognized in her the same woman who he had fought the Blight with. 

“Morrigan, I...” Alistair said.

“That’s all I have to say. We’ve got nothing to talk about,” Morrigan interrupted him. There was truly nothing she wanted to talk about anymore. No doubt, telling him who the real father of her child was wouldn’t be wise. Alistair had made clear he hated Loghain; explaining why she had chosen to conceive a child with him was something she couldn’t afford. 

Morrigan quickened her pace, leaving Lirene’s shop and Alistair behind her.

**_Dragon 32, Guardian_ **

The first sun rays crept inside the room. That mere source of light made Morrigan’s migraine spiral up even more.

Tossing and turning, she sought refuge under the sheets, only to find out that the blankets were too short to allow her to cover her head completely. She groaned, cursing the Hanged Man’s blankets, the continuous noises coming from the downstairs, the beetle she had found under her bed the day before. The Hanged Man was a filthy, chaotic place where people went on drinking and partying all night long more often than not. Unfortunately, her child showed its appreciation to the beat of music and laughter coming from downstairs. 

Her eyes closed, her fingers rubbing the sides of her head, Morrigan tried to imagine being still in Lirene’s house. There, she could rest and sleep as she needed. Since she had rented that room at the Hanged Man, she was constantly tired—even worse, she didn’t dare to enter the common room that much. Meeting Hawke and her friends wasn’t something she looked forward to, considering the way she had left Lirene’s employment. The few times she had met them in the common room, she had had to endure frequent, curious looks, not to the mention the suspicious ones from the lyrium elf. The only good news, strangely enough, was about Alistair. No one had sought her out to annoy her, not Templars, not common people claiming to know her story. Apparently the exiled Warden, after all, had chosen to leave her alone. And in truth, she was grateful for that.

Morrigan sat up with difficulty. She’d rather remain in bed all day long instead of going to the market, but she had no choice. The dress she had acquired a few months ago almost didn’t fit her anymore.

She extracted her golden mirror from her bag. The woman behind the other side of the glass looked weary, somewhat dirty, fat, all in all a mess. She held a lock of ebony, knotted hair. Suddenly huffy, she threw the mirror against the wall. When the shards of glass scattered on the floor, Morrigan didn’t move. She stared at the broken mirror, now a useless thing. But had it ever been useful before? What was that mirror, other than the memory of a life she would never have, and another that had been a complete lie? 

Somewhat refreshed, Morrigan got ready for going into town. Her current situation was far from ideal, yes, but she had to live with it. And she intended to do as much.

**_§§§_ **

When Morrigan got back to the Hanged Man, it was midday and the place was already crowded. She had had to bargain for a miserable piece of cloth worth half its price—to make matters worse, the winter sun had intensified her migraine. Walking back to the tavern had been an ordeal. The more her delivery neared, the more her legs and her body felt heavier. Now, all she wished was to lay in bed for the rest of the day.

Morrigan struggled to get through a sea of arms, bodies, and voices and get to the stairs leading to the rooms area. The set of stairs was finally in sight. With a sigh of relief, she moved the final needed steps, only to be grabbed by her arm. As exhausted and in pain as she was, she felt a deep-rooted, intense anger building inside her. Until now, she had refrained from talking back to those gruff, uncouth so-called customers, but perhaps it was about time to teach them a lesson.  
She turned, finding herself face to face with Isabela and Merrill. 

The Rivaini pirate let go of her arm immediately.  
“Ehi, don’t set me on fire,” she exclaimed, eyeing her with a mixture of amusement and mischief. “I’m here to help. Don’t char the help, mm?”

Merrill simply remained silent, throwing worried glances around as Isabela spoke.

“Sure. You’re ‘helping’ by hinting I can set people on fire,” Morrigan snapped. Definitely fed up with all that chaos and madness, she took one more step. 

“You can’t stay here. You know that, don’t you?” Isabela murmured at her ear, standing by her side. “I’ve been watching you for a while. And… sorry to break to you, but you look like shit. You’re not well, sweet thing.”

The Witch of the Wilds stared back at the Rivaini. What that crazy woman had just said made no sense at all. Yes, she knew she looked quite ‘like shit’, but where was she supposed to stay, if not at the Hanged Man?

“If you two really wish to talk,” Morrigan finally replied, “do me the favor to come to my room. At least, we won’t be surrounded by drunkards.“

**_§§§_ **

With Isabela at her side, it didn’t take much to reach the stairs—the pirate made way for the three of them with ease, throwing a playful flirt where jostling didn’t serve.

As soon as all three of them had entered Morrigan’s bedroom, she locked the door. Arms crossed, she stood, waiting for the Rivaini and Merrill to speak. 

Surprisingly enough, Merrill was the one to take the floor.  
“We are worried for you, Morrigan,” she began. “You look sick, and we’re sure that the Hanged Man doesn’t bode well for your health.”

Morrigan witnessed their concern in awe. The wariest part of her, the one who had survived the Wilds by being careful of every step, smelled a trick. She’d never had female, or male, friends. Women, especially, had always looked at her with suspicion. The mother she was about to become, though, desperately needed help.

“And where do you suggest I go? Darktown?” she retorted. “It may be quieter there, yes, but it’s also far less safe than this tavern. Drunkards are, after all, interested in pretty, slim women, certainly not in me.” Even as she talked, the awareness of not being ‘one of the pretty ones’ anymore hurt her. 

“You can stay at Kitten’s home,” Isabela simply suggested, while Merrill nodded. “It’s a small house, but it can host one more person.”

“Yes,” Merrill cut in, as shy as always. “I can’t offer you much, but it would certainly be quieter. More fitting for your… condition.”

In silence, Morrigan considered their proposal. She couldn’t deny that the Hanged Man was turning into hell for her, and truly, she had everything to gain and nothing to lose by accepting their offer. She would be in debt with Merrill, but she could easily repay her. Maybe, it was time to reveal that elven mage that she could help with the Eluvian—and perhaps they would help each other. There was just one tiny problem.

“What does Hawke have to say about this idea? It looks like she leads your gang. Won’t you get in trouble with her?”

Isabela laughed. “Hawke is dying to know what your story is. You are a welcome addition to Kirkwall, for her. And as long as you keep a low profile and don’t get Merrill in trouble, I doubt she cares where you sleep. The worst that can happen to you, is to find her at Merrill’s door and have to endure her questions.”

Morrigan twitched her mouth. That prospect was far from endearing, but it was still better than drunkards around all day, non-stop noises, and beetles under the bed. 

“Deal,” she stated. “On one condition. I will repay Merrill for her hospitality once the baby will be born.”

* * *

In and out.  
In and out.

Morrigan breathed quietly, cherishing the silence that reigned in Merril’s house. Now that she had a chance to clean herself up and to listen to her own thoughts, she felt more like herself. Eyes closed, she breathed in and out until she felt the magic running in her veins. It ran from the curve of her neck, it traveled along her shoulders, it reached her fingers through the length of her arm. Morrigan let her magic expand in her own body. As much it had changed, it was still her body, and her magical energy needed to adjust to its new shape. She might need her magic soon. 

“Morrigan?”

The Witch of the Wilds opened her eyes. Merrill was standing in the doorway, a nervous look in her eyes, turning something in her hands that Morrigan could not see.

For a moment, the interruption unnerved her—granted, that Dalish just had the worst timing ever. Then, she remembered that she was only a guest.  
“What is it?” she asked. 

“I…” Merrill started, looking away almost immediately. “… there’s something I wish to ask. But, of course, if you’re busy I will co—“

Morrigan wondered if, behind those green, doe eyes the Dalish mage was more shrewd than she let anyone think. 

“This time is as right as any, Merrill,” she assured. 

Merrill walked to her bed, sitting by her side in an unsure movement. Once again she wrung her hands. 

“Is that true? Did you meet Mahariel?” she inquired in a whisper. 

At the mere mention of Adrian, her stomach twisted into knots. He was the reason she was in this mess, and at the same time a memory too sweet and gentle to throw away. As much as their relationship had been built upon a lie, Morrigan couldn’t bring herself to banish him from her thoughts altogether. A… more tender, sentimental side of her had surfaced inside her in these last few months. It was something she blamed herself for, something that was perhaps part of her now. 

“I did,” Morrigan confirmed. She hoped her voice didn’t sound too shaky. 

Merrill hesitated once again before resuming speaking. “Was he… happy? Did he find his own peace of mind?”

The question caught her completely off guard. Part of her wanted to snap at that foolish elf, point out how being in the war wasn’t happy, or peaceful in any sense. But she didn’t have that luxury anymore. Besides, she could perceive the concern in Merrill’s voice. A kind of concern she had experienced too, once upon a time, the night before the Battle of Denerim. 

“I don’t know about his peace of mind, Merrill, but I can tell you he didn’t look happy,” Morrigan replied. “No war could offer happiness.” That answer, she was aware of it, was partly a lie. She did know something about how shattered Adrian’s peace of mind was. And that bit about wars and happiness—she had indeed been sort of happy during the Blight. 

Merrill stood up, sighing heavily. She spoke without looking at her. “I will never forget the despair and the hopelessness painted on his face when he had to leave the clan. Our clans are our home, you see. Our own beating heart.” Her voice turned into a whisper. ”And losing it all, is something I’d never wish on my worst enemy. And certainly not on my best friend. Somehow... I always knew there was no way to recover from a loss like that. Despite that, part of me hoped he managed to overcome his own nature. Like I haven’t been able to.”

Listening in complete silence, Morrigan tried to picture what the Dalish mage was telling her. If for a Dalish being turned away from his clan was the same as losing his roots, maybe she, Adrian, and Merrill had something more than she thought in common. Just like them, she had lost the right go back home. The Wilds were what had always defined her—she, the Witch of the Wilds, didn’t belong there any more. She had been the Witch of the Wilds for so long that she didn’t know how to be anything else. They were meant to stay with their people, and that right had been denied to them both. 

Morrigan turned to look at Merrill, her face filled with melancholy. 

“I am sorry,” she murmured.

 

**_Dragon 32, Drakonis_ **

Once, Morrigan thought she knew pain. When she was but a child, she had suffered when Mother had snatched the golden mirror from her. Many years later, the way Lothering’s inhabitants rejected her each time she had tried entering the village had hurt her more than she had ever cared to admit. Then, during the Fifth Blight she had experienced true, physical pain for the first time when that shriek had stuck its blade into her shoulder. Adrian’s betrayal had seemed to her the most infectious of wounds.

She had been wrong. So very wrong. 

When the first contraction had shaken her body, she had thought them endurable. At first, the contractions were not more painful than her shoulder wound. She perfectly knew what was going to happen. They would become more and more frequent, to ready her body for the delivery. 

Then, all of a sudden, she had not been in control anymore. The world had turned into a globe of pain. She had felt as if someone was peeling off her fingernails and toenails every five minutes. Again, again, and again. Each minute that passed, it was as if her body was purging her intestines from the inside out. The part of her mind that had studied how to handle a delivery had fallen silent. Helpless, she had cried and cried, a piece of wood between her teeth to avoid waking up the whole Alienage and biting her own tongue and lips. 

The First of the Dalish clans were not trained as midwives. At least, the former First of the Sabrae Clan had not received that kind of training. All she could think about was calling Hawke, waking her up in the middle of the night. 

In the end, as much as Morrigan was annoyed by Hawke’s usual attitude, her help had been invaluable in preventing her from dying during the delivery. 

After all, it was thanks to her that Morrigan could hold her babies in her arms.

The moment those tiny human beings were placed in her weary arms, all the pain and the weariness had finally disappeared. Their cries were truly the most welcome sound she had ever heard in her whole life.

Two pairs of eyes, one ice-blue, one chestnut, were staring at her. And those eyes, those delicate, minuscule fingers were the only thing in the world that mattered. The chestnut-eyed, the girl, offered Morrigan the most beautiful funny face she had ever seen and grasped her finger. The blue-eyed, the boy, merely cooed, but never stopped looking at her. 

Morrigan didn’t think once about Mother, about Adrian, about the people currently in the room with her. She was holding the most precious beings in her arms, and she wouldn’t let go of them, her son and her daughter, for any reason. 

 

**_Dragon 32, Cloudreach_ **

For that whole month, Morrigan lived as if a cloud was surrounding her, as if the only sounds deserving her attention were the ones coming from her babies’. So many hours she had spent staring at their chubby faces, wondering how should she name them. Too often her body craved rest, too often she was exhausted and in dire need of a whole night’s sleep. The babies totally depended on her and drained her energies, leaving her only the little she needed to walk and stand. All the same, too many hours, she knew, she ended up sleeping instead of spending her time with them. Time was never enough, nor were energies.

Watching her son and her daughter as they cried, they moved those minuscule arms, as they drank from her breasts, as they slept peacefully, she wondered how in the past she could not have understood, even mocked, Owen, Redcliffe’s smith, worrying for his Valena. In the end, Valena was nowhere to be seen and they had had to be the ones to tell Owen his daughter was almost certainly dead. 

Morrigan swore she would protect her own child, a second Valena, instead. 

And it was exactly the need to keep Valena and her brother safe that brought her back to reality. As much as she would love the idea of basking in her babies’ sight, smell, and touch, the world was right out Merrill’s door, as well as Mother. Her world was her children, now. And for that reason, she had to find a way to escape Mother’s clutches. Simply running wasn’t good enough for them. She needed to rest at night knowing that her little ones would be awake in the morning and in need of her, and not the victims of their grandmother.

**_§§§_ **

For once, Valena and her brother were sleeping soundly. Merrill wasn’t at home, either, so Morrigan, for the second time since she had first entered the house, stepped into the Eluvian room.

And there it was. Shining with energy, full of promises of exotic travels and safe destination. This time, though, she was careful. She didn’t listen to its whispers, she didn’t walk towards it. 

The door creaked. Merrill’s steps echoed in the room. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Morrigan heard the Dalish mage’s voice and turned to face her. Merrill looked like a trapped animal, or rather someone found red-handed. 

“I said I would repay you, and I will,” she stated. And pointing out the Eluvian, she added, “There’s something I know about Eluvians. I’m willing to share my knowledge with you, if you wish to.”

Merrill opened her mouth in disbelief, than closed it again. For several moments, she remained silent, frowning. Morrigan waited patiently, fully knowing that Dalish girl had the fate of her newborns in her hands. 

“Can you help me reactivate it?” Merrill finally asked, shining with hope.

Morrigan was no stranger to lies, but a lie, right now, would be of no use. So, shook her head. 

All over the Dalish mage’s face there was now disappointment. Immediately after, though, she tightened her lips, and her eyes gleamed with determination. 

“I have examined a shard of the Eluvian Mahariel and Tamlen found in the Brecilian Forest, but until now even that had been of no use. I don’t have the necessary information. However… I know where to find those information.”She never looked away from Morrigan. “Why do you care about the Eluvians? You’re a human.”

In her voice, there was something totally new. Pride. For a second, Merrill looked like Zathrian clan’s elves, so proud of their past and their race. The moment later, though, the Dalish mage was her usual self, simply more determined than Morrigan had ever seen her. 

“I need a safe route for me and my children, Merrill. Trust me, they could be in danger,” Morrigan confessed. It was clear that the elf wouldn’t accept silence as an answer. She wasn’t ready to tell more about herself, though.

Merrill simply nodded, a gleam of tenderness in her eyes as she mentioned the babies. “You need safety. I need help to get back that book. We can help out each other… On one condition. As soon as you are done with the tome, you will give it back to my people.”

Promises were easy. Morrigan never considered promises to be something that needed to be kept. She was willing to give back to the Dalish whatever tome Merrill was talking about. And should she have the need to keep it for the sake of her children, she would.

Morrigan agreed.

As she sat on the floor, she kept talking. “There is a clan, back in Ferelden, that guards and protects a Dalish tome. An ancient tome about the Eluvians, and how they worked back in Arlathan.”

“And despite being Dalish, you have no way to get your hands on it,” Morrigan said. “Or you would have already. Is that right?”

Merrill stood up. She twitched her lips, as if she had just ingested a bitter pill. “Right,” she confirmed. “Solan, Keeper of Ladahlen clan, has been entrusted to protect the relic. Last I heard, the clan was camped in Ferelden, not far from Amaranthine. If you can find a way and steal the book for Ladahlen clan, I will help translate it.”

Ferelden. Amaranthine. The mere thought of going back to that country, plus, so near to where Adrian, the Warden Commander, was stationed, filled her with uncertainty. All the same, she had no other choice. 

“You have a deal, Merrill. I will leave as soon as my sore body will allow it,” Morrigan replied. She hesitated a second. “Why do you trust me?”

Merrill’s eyes filled with sadness. “Because I have no other real option. The glory of my people has to be restored, and for that… I’m willing to do whatever is necessary.”


	16. A cleaner slate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the events of Awakening take place, without Leliana to guide him and take him by the hand Adrian is forced to walk by himself. And not everything he finds about himself is entirely pleasant. 
> 
> Perhaps he's not ready to see Morrigan again. But he has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I know, it's been a while since the last update. Thing is, I got Inquisition and I started playing it--of course, the game absorbed me a bit for a while._
> 
> _But, ehi, let's see it this way: now that I'm trying Inquisition, the Inquisition chapters will turn out much better!_

**_Dragon 32, Cloudreach_ **

No matter how much Adrian tried to clean his daggers, how many times he bathed, how much he washed his clothes, there was always a red stain left.

The peasants’ blood had stuck on his hands, and now there was no getting rid of it.

In an irritable gesture, he threw the reports on the floor. Watching the papers as they scattered at his feet, though, offered him no relief. Once, ignoring the reports had helped him forget, only for a little while, that he was not free to live as he pleased. Now, there was no relief anymore. Everything had changed.

In his dreams, Adrian could still hear the sound of skin cut by his blades, see that farmer’s eyes turn lifeless, feel the man’s hands on his shoulders as tried to lean against him as he fell, smell the stink of blood. 

Sighing, he rubbed his temples with his fingers, covering his face with his hands a moment later. He had always deemed himself a ‘man of the people’, someone nearer to those peasants than to the nobles—he knew what it meant to be hungry, to be under someone’s thumb, to have to lead a life according to someone else’s whim. The Dalish were forced to move at the first sign of human trespassing, after all, and the peasants, not used to nomadism, had no choice but confiding in their nobles to be fed and protected. 

At first, it seemed that the rebellion could be cooled down, that the peasants of Amaranthine would listen to his words. All they wanted was to be fed. Protected, they were already, thanks to him. That had to be worth something.

Nevertheless, Amaranthine’s people hadn’t believed in his promises, and had chosen to fight to get to the granary instead. After all, Adrian couldn’t really blame them. They had probably endured their fair share of empty promises.

But if he wasn’t a ‘man of the people’, a noble—too little he had in common with any nobility, not to mention it was probably some nobles who had incited the revolurion—or a Dalish elf anymore, what had he turned into? Was he really nothing more than a Warden, the Warden-Commander of Ferelden?

A loud knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Adrian straightened his back and looked towards the door. He may not know what he was for certain, but by now, he did know that no one allowed him to show his weaknesses. 

“Come in,” Adrian said. 

The door opened, revealing the presence of Nathaniel Howe. The man walked cautiously inside, his eyes lingering on the reports scattered on the floor almost immediately. It took him a couple of seconds to speak. 

“Can I be of help, Commander?” Nathaniel asked. 

That was a polite way to ask whether or not inquiring was welcomed, Adrian easily understood. Much to his own surprise, he had come to appreciate Howe as time had gone by. Something, in his eyes and his voice, had convinced Adrian to accept Nathaniel’s request and to allow him to perform the Joining. Only recently had he understood what exactly.   
They both had lost their place in the world, they both were forced to remain in Amanthine—himself, because he had taken an oath and was now bound to stay true to it, Nathaniel because he had nowhere to go, and after all Amaranthine, even if the Howes didn’t rule it anymore, was the closest to a home he could ever have.

Nathaniel hesitated for a brief second. “The Seneschal and Captain Garavel are concerned, Commander. Ever since the revolt, you have barely spoken with anyone, and holed up in this study...” he shot a meaningful glance at the papers at his feet, “...reading reports.” 

It didn’t take a genius to guess where the conversation was headed. Adrian was utterly conscious he had been even more grumpy than he usually was, and that he had barely paid attention to whatever the Seneschal had to say. The truth was that he felt inadequate to the task. 

“So, they sent you instead of dealing with me themselves?” Adrian inquired. 

Nathaniel took an uncomfortable look around. “You are not exactly easy to deal with, Commander. You are all about duty, but at the same time you despise that duty.”

Adrian took a step forward. Although he couldn’t deny the truth in Howe’s words, there was still something quite… off. Why him? Why not Oghren, his old comrade, or Velanna, with whom he shared more than anyone else in the Keep?

“Last I heard, the Seneschal didn’t trust you at all,” he stated. 

For the first time since the start of their talk, Nathaniel looked right into his eyes. “He doesn’t trust me much more, Commander. Nonetheless, he needed my competence. I am still the only present Warden who has been raised as a noble. Therefore, I am your best bet in confronting our noble traitors…” he offered a quick smile, “… or the ultimate betrayer, considering my birthright and the circumstances that led me to this Keep.”

Upon contemplating the fellow Warden’s smile, Adrian shook his head. More than once he had discussed Nathaniel’s presence with Varel and insisted that he wasn’t a backstabber. As irrational as it was, during their adventure in the Blackmarsh a bond had been forged. A bond strong enough to make Adrian overlook those previous circumstances. 

“Say, Nate. Is there any chance you might want the burden of command back? Amaranthine was your home, after all. It would be fitting, in a sense,” Adrian said, half-jokingly. Honestly, he would resign if he could. 

The glimpse of surprise on Nathaniel’s face as he heard that nickname lasted only a second. Then, he laughed heartily—a laugh that slowly softened into a smile.   
“It was no chance I was in the Free Marches during the Blight, Commander. I was the elder son, yes, but my brother Thomas was better equipped in dealing with diplomacy at the age of 16 than I will ever be. He was the one fit to rule.” He lowered his voice, grimacing. “All that is left is me, now. And the best chance for me to redeem my family’s name is fighting darkspawn, like my father should have done. That’s my heritage, now.” It didn’t take him much time to regain a certain composure. “Plus, if you think this Arling would welcome me as its ruler with open arms, you really need my help.”

For the second time during his stay at Amaranthine, Adrian didn’t feel abandoned. Leliana wasn’t there to guide him, but he wasn’t alone. Ever since that first meeting under the moonlight, Velanna had grown less abrasive towards him—and Nathaniel, in some weird way, had become something close to a lethallin. He wasn’t there yet, but he may be, one day. 

“I never claimed to be a diplomacy genius,” Adrian replied, shrugging. 

“Ruling is hard, Commander,” Nathaniel stated, gently. “I know it. Even my brother failed my father’s tests sometimes. Do you really think you’re not entitled to make mistakes?”

Those words shed a new light on the peasants’ massacre. Yes, Adrian was still tormented by the identity loss churning his insides day after day, but Nathaniel was right on one thing—mistakes are only obvious when one, like himself, wasn’t an expert. He took a deep breath. 

“You are right,” Adrian admitted. 

“Good. Then, we’ll go searching the Dark Wolf as soon as possible. That spy probably has some answers for us, by now,” Nathaniel answered. As he opened the door to leave, he added, “By the way, there’s another reason I came here. Our scouts are escorting Warden Mac Tir. He will reach the Keep in a few hours, to report to the Warden Commander. So, to you.” 

Adrian only managed to nod in acknowledgement to Nate’s words. The moment he was left alone, he punched the wall with all his strength. Along with Loghain’s name, his memories concerning the Battle of Denerim, that previous, horrible last night he had seen Morrigan, and the nightmare that the coronation had been coming back to haunt him. A sense of helplessness filled him, the unsolved mystery of Morrigan’s plan, and Loghain’s survival made roots in his brain once again. 

Perhaps, this time, he could solve the puzzle.

* * *

Seated at his desk, Adrian waited in his study. It was not like he had never expected Loghain to come to Amaranthine, sooner or later—he was, after all, the Warden-Commander now and there was a chance any fellow Warden could knock at his door. Loghain included. He wasn’t prepared at all, though. Maybe, he wasn’t even ready to meet him again. 

He was under no illusion, being Warden-Commander didn’t grant him the authority to obtain any answer at all. In a sense, the situation was no different than the Queen’s coronation, because even though Anora wasn’t there to protect her father, she could intercede nonetheless, if she was notified of any kind of ‘abuse of power’ on his part. In addition, Loghain wasn’t going to respect him only for a title. He didn’t show any respect before, and now, though he was certainly willing to not get himself in trouble, he wouldn’t be less stubborn and proud. 

A tap on the door resonated into the whole room. Velanna poked her head in. 

“Warden Mac Tir just entered the Keep, Commander,” she announced. Then, possibly noticing his tense expression, she asked, “Is this man one of the bad humans?”

Adrian wavered. He didn’t want to impose his views on anyone, neither he did he wish to tell the story of his and Loghain’s rivalry. So, he chose partial honesty.

“I don’t like him, Velanna. That’s all.”

She stared at him another moment, almost suspiciously, before leaving. 

The door never closed, though.  
Loghain Mac Tir was in the doorway. 

Calmly, Adrian stood, never looking away from Loghain. He perfectly knew he was staring at him the exact same way he did at a dangerous beast, one that should never be underestimated. On the other hand, the Hero of the River Dane, the slayer of Urthemiel, was expressionless; his blank face didn’t reveal anything of whatever was going on in his head. 

“Sit, Warden Mac Tir,” Adrian finally ordered.

“As you wish, Commander,” was Loghain’s curt reply. 

As much as Adrian tried, he perceived no hint of sarcasm in his voice. Still, he waited until the man was seated, towering over him for a few seconds, before sitting as well. It was clear from the scowl on Loghain’s face that he was as displeased as Adrian was to be engaged in conversation, so that this could not be a courtesy call. The sooner the formalities were executed, the sooner he could ask him what truly mattered to him. 

“What brings you here?”

Loghain looked almost relieved. For a split second, that emotion was clear on his face.

“I brought the recruits, along with some equipment from Denerim’s stash. I am to leave for Orlais as soon as I’m done here.” He grimaced. “Orders from Weisshaupt.”

Orlais, huh? A destination kind of fitting for the bastard. For once, Adrian silently thanked the Wardens. There was nothing Loghain Mac Tir hated more than Orlais and the Orlesians. Maybe the First Warden still blamed him for his actions against the Order, or Orlais truly required more Wardens. Either way, Loghain would suffer. It was all that mattered to Adrian. One moment later, though, the intensity of his own hate towards the man dismayed him. When had he turned into such a hateful person? Loghain was the reason why Alistair was lost who knew where and exiled, but—

“What’s the matter? Does this update upset you, Commander?” Loghain inquired, with a smirk on his lips. “I never thought you could miss me.”

His emotion must have been quite transparent, Adrian concluded. Still, the mockery was clear in his voice. As much as such a deep-rooted hate was something to battle, Loghain didn’t make it any easier. Enraged, Adrian stood. 

“Remind me once again how you are alive, traitor,” he ranted. “You were supposed to die on Fort Drakon’s roof. I am your Commander, and I demand that you answer me.”

“And what are you going to do, if I ignore your command? Run to Weisshaupt and ask the First Warden to spank me?” Loghain’s smirk never faltered. He never lost confidence. “I wonder, why do you care so much? Is it because of the Theirin boy? If that’s so, you may as well flog yourself. You’re the one who spared me. You’re the one who gave him reason to leave your side.”

Adrian went pale. Elgar’nan help him, as much as the man was loathsome, he was right. He had made the decision in front of the whole Landsmeet; he was the one to blame. He was responsible for having driven his best friend away. And now there was nothing he could do to make it right. How many people had he driven away? Morrigan, Alistair, maybe even Leliana. How long had it been since she had written him?

“Get out of here,” Adrian whispered, looking away from Loghain. 

As the Hero of River Dane left sticking out his chest, the Hero of Ferelden stood in front of his own misery.

**_Dragon 32, Bloomingtide_ **

The blank pages danced in front of Adrian. Funny how he had found that diary, the same item that was causing him heartache, in Amaranthine Chantry.

Leliana would say that it certainly was a whisper of the Maker, an exhortation to start over and put his mistakes behind him, to forgive himself. But how could he? Only now that he was aware of how blind he had been, he realized how powerless he was to make it all right. 

The blank pages laid in front of him in front of him, but they were nonetheless out of reach. 

“Commander?”

Velanna's voice brought Adrian back to the present. The white paper turned into the green scrub surrounding the Keep, and he set his eyes on Velanna's exquisite face. 

“Have you forgotten our training?” she asked. 

There was a shade of reprimand in her voice, though she looked mostly worried. As time had passed, he had come to appreciate her company and Nathaniel‘s—they were the only ones willing not only to treat him as more than their Commander, scolding him when needed, but to care about how he felt, too. They were the closest thing he had to a lethallin and a lethallan.

“I have not, Velanna,” he replied, closing the blank diary.

She walked towards him, one quiet step after another. Taking a look at the diary, she added, “I didn't take you for the scholar type, Commander. I'm surprised. As much as our clans encourage us to fulfill our true potential and learn more and more day after day, a hunter is a hunter. Books are usually something that ends up in the First's hands.”

The image of Merrill sitting under the oak and leafing through the pages of Keeper Marethari's books flashed into his mind. Despite being as restless as she had been, Merrill had been a close friend of his. If circumstances had been different, she may even have become his bride—there had always been something enticing about her, a kind of rebellious attitude Adrian had wanted to understand, to decode. Shard of their People's past she saw and he never did. As he looked at Velanna, who was now sitting by his side, Adrian realized he and Merrill would never have worked together. She lived in a distant past, he lived in the present. She was like the books he could never truly love. The passing thought of making Merrill his bride had only been the outcome of his fascination with women, fueled by the belief that the true ascension to maturity was marriage, finding the other half. Marriage meant children, children meant an increasing chance of survival for the Dalish. And without the Dalish, Arlathan could never be rebuilt again. And what better match than the First, someone born to deal with magic, to the most gifted hunter of the clan, someone nearer to nature and animals than to people? Everyone assumed they were going to get married sooner or later. And he had come to believe it, too. She was the woman he got along with best, after all. 

“It is no book,” Adrian said. 

Velanna frowned, staring at the diary. “It has a cover and it has pages. It seems a book to me.”

Practical as ever, Adrian noted. That same practical attitude, though, was nothing but a facade—the moonlight had shown him who she truly was under her mask. That night, when they had shared their mutual feelings of loneliness, nostalgia, and melancholy, he had been drawn to her like a moth to the flame. For a time, he had felt guilty due to the affinity that moonlight had revealed and the secret, non-spoken arrangement according to which they were not allowed to mention that meeting ever again. And what could draw a person in such a way, if not desire?   
Marriage. A family. Children. Every Dalish was expected to create his own family, and every family required a man and a woman to start with. A man and a woman who desired each other and could be each other’s missing half—that was the only way a clan could grow stronger and more long-living. As time had gone by, Adrian had started seeing women as a mean to serve the Sabrae clan. Of course, a marriage was considered a knot to be tied carefully and delicately, through months of proper courting. Only then, desire could be fulfilled. But what is the real difference between love and sex, when one is encouraged to desire a woman for the sake of procreation? He had never asked Ashalle or Keeper Marethari. He was supposed to know the answer already, after all.  
Until that last conversation with Loghain, Adrian hadn’t realized how much those notions had twisted his relationship with women. He had never been allowed to give in to raw desire until he had left the Sabrae clan, and once he had been free to he had gladly dived in it. So much, in fact, that he had stepped over his own morality and their dignity. Thrown into a whole new world that asked too much of him, Adrian had found himself drawn to both Morrigan and Leliana, secretly believing he deserved to live amidst the sea of duty around him. He wasn’t a hunter of Sabrae clan no more, so procreation didn’t matter anymore. Only giving voice to the desire he had repressed for years and being free to love as he wished mattered.   
Now, Adrian knew that reasoning made no sense, and that he really knew nothing of love. But at least, he could look at Velanna and see not a woman he had an affinity to because of some kind of desire, but a living being who deserved respect, and whom he felt close to due to a similar course of life. Not because a force was driving him to bed her.

Velanna would be his first step towards a clean slate. 

Adrian took a deep breath. “It’s a blank diary,” he explained. “To be filled with whatever one might feel… deserving.”

Keeping silent, the female Dalish studied him intently. Then, she laid a hand on the diary. “And what is it you read in these pages? Perhaps the moment you will return home?”

He shook his head. He wasn’t ready yet to give voice to his thoughts, but maybe he could do right by Velanna. Maybe he could offer her what he was forbidden to. 

“My future is written, Velanna. But yours...” He paused, hesitantly, staring at her questioning eyes. “… what if I told you I’m ready to allow you to go back to your clan, once we’ll find Seranni?”

Not unlike she had done the first time he had mentioned her possible return to her clanmates, Velanna stiffened. “I told you, I...” she began. Suddenly, she looked stricken with an emotion Adrian knew well. Guilt. Guilt was all over her face. “… I can’t. I’m responsible for the clan’s demise and for Seranni’s disappearance. The Keeper would never take me back, Commander.” She looked away, shameful, and added a bit harshly, “Please don’t ask me more. I won’t talk about it.” 

Slowly, Adrian handed her the diary. She deserved a clean slate, too. “I hope one day you’ll be ready to start over. You’ll be needing those pages more than I do.”

Reluctantly, still without watching him, Velanna whispered, “I may never be. But thank you for the… chance.”

* * *

The moment Fergus Cousland entered the Keep, Adrian knew that there was something new, something different about him. The lines of his face were less tense, the light in his eyes was no longer the one of a desperate man. He didn’t walk anymore as if each step weighed like the world, he didn’t look lost in the past anymore. Adrian could still glimpse the scar the loss of his sister , his wife and his son had left in him. It would always remain on his face. But it didn’t slow him down as much as before. 

Fergus Cousland made his entrance into the hall. 

“Warden-Commander, Arl of Amaranthine,” Fergus greeted. “I thank you for your hospitality.” 

“Your Lordship, Teyrn Cousland of Highever, you are welcome,” Adrian replied. It had taken him time to get used to the protocol, but he was finally beginning to understand it. The Seneschal had been considerably patient with him in that regard. He gestured for Fergus to follow him. “If Your Lordship wishes to follow me…”

Without further ado, Teyrn Cousland nodded. The two men took the stairs to the battlements—the personal study of the Commander was the apt place to meet a simple ally, but he and Fergus were beyond that. Fergus had extended his hand in friendship even before really knowing who Adrian was. 

As they walked, they both admired the city of Amaranthine. From afar, the people looked like little ants. No doubt, Amaranthine was lively and breathing. And now, Adrian knew it was his responsibility to keep it that way. Not Leliana’s, not the Seneschal, not Nathaniel. His own. The circumstances might have put him in that position against his will, but there he was, nonetheless. 

“I hear you’re working your way as Arl, Commander. There’s quite the talk around about how you saved Lord Bentley’s daughter and you’re keeping the darkspawn at bay. They say you lent your ear to two commoners and, thanks to that, you prevented those monsters from crawling into the city,” Fergus started.

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? Keep Amaranthine safe?” Adrian replied.

Fergus turned to look at him. For a few moments, he simply studied Adrian in silence. “It is. We both know, however, it might not be enough. An incompetent ruler meets a daft end due to his weaknesses. A competent one, however, must guard himself against those who envy him. And I daresay, you’re envied. The people of Amaranthine are beginning to trust you. You’re… different from the man I met months ago, Commander.”

Images of peasants’ butchered corpses flashed in Adrian’s mind. Unwittingly, he brushed his hands against his armor. Their blood was still there. “Do they?”” he whispered. “Do they trust to men who killed the father of a son or a wife because they wanted wheat?”

Fergus stopped walking and laid a hand on his shoulder. At first, Adrian flinched at the contact, then exhaled and slightly relaxed. 

“Your heart is in the right place, Commander, and that’s the reason why you miss the point. Whoever put those poor sods up to rebel, wanted you to feel miserable. Whoever this is, wants you to focus on your guilt, and not on finding those responsible. Your enemies know you’re formidable on the field, and that’s why they plan on defeating you on a whole different battlefield. You can not let them influence you,” Teyrn Cousland murmured. 

Upon hearing those words, Adrian stiffened once again. Ser Tamra had paid for her loyalty with her life. The Dark Wolf was nowhere to be found, despite his offer of finding out more about the conspiracy. And now, he was asked to forget about the death of innocents. Pawns, Fergus would have said. 

“Do you want me to forget those people ever existed? To focus on my own grip on power?” Adrian asked. 

“Strike down your enemies for those innocents, then. Hunt them down like you would chase a deer in the Brecilian Forest, Commander. Men have a scent as well as beast. All you have to do is follow it,” the Teyrn replied, removing his hand from Adrian’s shoulder.

There was no hint of resentment in Fergus’ voice, but Adrian felt remorseful nonetheless—thinking that the Teyrn didn’t care for the common people had been plainly unjust. Unable to utter a word, Adrian gave a nod. 

“I wish I could stay longer, Commander. Sadly, I have to leave at once for Denerim. The Queen has requested my presence, and I’m bound to obey to the Crown.” Fergus’s tone was flat, impersonal. Even too impersonal, perhaps. “However, you know you can count on my support. I will be back in Highever soon.”

“Then I wish you a good journey, Your Lordship,” Adrian murmured. 

The Queen. Adrian had almost forgotten about her. That woman had made clear she had no love for him. He wondered what she was up to, what she was concocting in that mind of hers. Adrian opened his mouth, ready to warn Fergus to be wary. 

But it was too late. Teyrn Cousland had left already. Adrian could only pray the Evanuris to keep him safe. Would they protect a human’s life, though?

* * *

From enemies to corpses. Once accusing mouths, now a mix of blood, muscles, and bones that would never talk or move again. 

Staring at Bann Esmerelle’s lifeless eyes, even Adrian knew she had stated nothing but lies—Arl Howe might have been truly good to her, but it certainly wasn’t the reason that had moved her hand against him. What use could be killing him, the one she apparently considered an usurper? Killing him wouldn’t serve to bring Arl Howe back. Esmerelle, Lady Liza Packton, Ser Timothy, and Lady Morag had had to be aware of it. But what if they were really acting in the name of Howe? What if vengeance had moved their hands? He looked at the Antivan Crow dead on the ground, a sight that painfully reminded him of Zevran. He wondered if his friend was safe, if he had managed to get rid of his enemies.

With the corner of his eye, Adrian saw Seneschal Varel. The healers had just removed the arrow that had pierced his shoulder, and Anders was now proceeding to heal his wound. Varel had not hesitated in stepping in front of him, even at the risk of his own life. Esmerelle deserved no more of his time. She was dead, while the living required his attention.

Adrian walked towards Varel. The moment the Seneschal saw him, he attempted to rise, only to be stopped by Anders. 

“Stay still, Seneschal. Let Anders take care of you,” Adrian said, kneeling down in front of the man. 

Somewhat hesitantly, Varel obeyed. He looked a bit uncomfortable in remaining sit in front of his Arl.

Still, even if he had seemed willing to defy his order and stand instead, unlike Esmerelle his actions had been prompted by loyalty. Not treachery. 

“You risked your life for me, Varel. I owe you a thank you,” Adrian stated.

Varel shook his head. “All due respect, Commander, I only did my duty. My duty is to serve you, and—“

“Thank you, Varel,” Adrian repeated, this time firmly. 

And the Seneschal, on his regard, finally accepted his words. He slowly nodded. “You deserve all of my loyalty, Commander.”

**_Dragon 32, Justinian_ **

A woman, but a twisted kind of female. Her eyes shone with an intelligence permeated with madness. The Mother, the one responsible for the massacre in Amaranthine, was finally in front of Adrian. The image of another mother, the dead one massacred by darkspawn he and Leliana had found in Kul Baras, flashed in his mind. 

“And finally, all pieces fall into place. The Grey Warden, the instrument of the Father, comes.”

All pieces were finally falling into place indeed. Now Adrian knew that the Grey Warden brooch they had found in Kul Baras belonged to a Warden captured by the Architect, now it was clear why the darkspawn were fighting each other. 

Thanks to the Architect, the Mother now possessed a voice and a mind, the chance to reason like a human or an elf, but her mind was tainted with madness. And perhaps, mixing the darkspawn blood with Grey Warden’s had only made those beasts even worse, capable not only of violence but of treachery and the closest thing to civil war they could know, too.

Still, making a deal with the Architect was the best choice. At worst, in time, the darkspawn would butcher each other. At better, the Architect would be able to keep them away from humans. That way, Velanna could maybe find Seranni again one day. Adrian was grateful to Nathaniel, too—his friend had never, even once, questioned his decision. Even Justice had come to understand his point of view somehow.

“I am no one’s instrument,” Adrian snarled, taking one step forward. A shadow of the Architect appeared beside him.

The Mother grinned, showing razor blade teeth. 

“Are you not the Father’s puppet? Perhaps the Warden would like to hear how the Father began the Blight…”

Adrian threw a sudden glance at the Architect. To his surprise and dismay, the darkspawn lowered his head in shame. What was the Mother talking about? A slither suspicion made its way in his brain.

The Mother theatrically stuck her head out, her voice triumphant. “You want the source of the Archdemon, the one who brought our kind to the surface? Here he is!”

It couldn’t be. It had to be some trick, some last minute maneuver of the Mother in the attempt to sow discord between him and the Architect. If the Architect was the one responsible for the Fifth Blight, it meant that he was to blame for Tamlen’s death, for him being forced to leave his clan and his life behind, for Alistair to be exiled. Without the Blight, none of that would have happened.

“I attempted my joining ritual on the Old God, Urthemiel, because I wished to free all darkspawn, unraveling the curse from its source. I did not mean to unleash the Fifth Blight, Warden,” the Architect admitted in a whisper. 

In the creature’s eyes, Adrian saw regret and guilt. It was only when the hilt of his dagger pressed hard against his skin that he realized he had been holding his weapons with all his strength. 

“I was correct. All these creatures are irredeemable fiends,” Justice stated. In that moment, he was once again the spirit of Justice, untouched by the world of the living. His words resonated in the cavern like a final judgment.

Adrian swiftly turned to face the Architect. That creature would pay for all it had done. 

With one last sorrowful look, the creature disappeared in front of his eyes. 

Trembling with rage, Adrian turned to the Mother. He would hunt the Architect down, but the Mother was far from innocent either. He could still save Amaranthine from its more urgent menace. He would deal with the other darkspawn later.

**_§§§_ **

With one last strike, Adrian severed the last of the Mother’s tentacles. Panting with the effort the battle had required, he looked into her eyes. Now she was no different from the dead mother in Kul-Baras. Maybe now she heard her song again. All he cared for, was that the war in Amaranthine was over. Still, he didn’t sheathe his daggers.

“Nathaniel?” Adrian called. 

The rogue was by his side in a matter of seconds. He was bleeding from a cut on his arm, but otherwise, he seemed to be fine. Nate stared at him in silence.

“You will take over my duties as Warden-Commander. I need to go after the Architect now, before the trail gets cold,” Adrian murmured. 

His request was met with silence once again. Now, both Justice and Velanna were at his side, too. 

“No."

Adrian turned. Nathaniel tightened his lips, crossing his arms and reinforcing his refusal.

“What does it mean ‘no’?” Adrian cried. “You have your orders. Obey me.”

“Not this time, Commander,” Velanna intervened. “We won’t send you alone, without support nor supplies, to your death.”

“You want to find the creature, I understand, Commander. But that’s not the way. You would only get killed without accomplishing your mission. We will ready ourselves and we will accompany you, if you wish. Once we will be ready for that kind of confrontation, Commander,” Nathaniel added. 

“The Howe speaks sense. The creature has to be brought to justice, but this plan is hopeless,” Justice said. 

As his anger waned a bit, Adrian realized his companions were right. Leaving now meant to embark on a suicide mission, without saying goodbye to Leliana. Adrian took a deep breath. After all, he had had enough of death for today. 

“Fine. But I will hunt that creature down, one day. The sooner, the better,” Adrian swore.

* * *

That was the last of the Deep Roads maps available at Vigil’s Keep. Once he copied it, he could finally leave and go after the Architect. There was no way he could get away with what he had done. 

Nathaniel would act as Warden-Commander in his absence, while Velanna, Sigrun, and Justice had chosen to accompany him—Seranni was with the Architect, after all, and the Legion’s purpose was to eliminate the darkspawn threat. Once in the bowels of the earth, they would be alone. Asking for the Order’s support would have meant to confess that they had let a darkspawn, even worse a unique darkspawn, leave unharmed. They may spend the rest of their lives in a dungeon, if discovered. 

So, their mission would be a secret one. 

Adrian savored yet another taste of meat. Ever since the Mother’s defeat, Amaranthine had thrived—the hunters, now able to hunt more safely, had flooded the city with goods. He looked around, at the Wardens enjoying their meal in the dining hall. Even the Wardens seemed almost happy.

As he heard the sound of a chair being moved, Adrian turned, finding himself face to face with Oghren. As always, he had a mug of beer in his hands. 

“Ehi, Commander. Wanna know something juicy?” his old comrade asked, grinning with amusement. 

“Like what?” Adrian asked. He didn’t even try to hide how uninterested he was. 

Usually, Oghren scoffed and left him alone at that point. Not that time. The dwarf leaned on the table. “Guess who I’ve seen disembark at the port today? The old forest witch. And guess what, she had two tiny babies with her. I suppose she didn’t loathe the idea of a husband, after all.”

Adrian leapt to his feet so suddenly that Oghren let out a gasp. Morrigan was in town? Morrigan had children? Maybe she was coming to him asking for aid. Maybe he finally had the chance to clarify everything with her. To set things right. What if those babies were—

“You all’right, boss?” Oghren asked, a worried expression on his face. 

“Where was she heading, Oghren?” he asked, ignoring the multiple pairs of eyes on them. 

“How’m supposed to know?” the dwarf blurted out. 

Adrian marched out of the dining hall. The Architect would wait. He had a score to settle, and he wouldn’t miss that opportunity.


	17. The bard's call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana and Dorothea's mission continue.  
> In Antiva, the red-haired former bard meets a few faces from her past.  
> And when the worst seems over, when she thinks herself free from Anora's grip... that's exactly when everything starts falling to pieces.

**_Dragon 32, Bloomingtide_**  


Each city had its own character: a colorful mix of smells, different shapes of faces, smiles and clothes, and a unique architecture. Once, Zevran had told Leliana that Antiva smelled of fresh leather—and now she knew he had been truthful about that detail at least. Antiva did smell of leather, and of coffee and wine. The city shone with rubies and diamonds, it primped itself with silk and porcelain.

Even the Chantry of Antiva smelled and shone like its market and square. 

The boys and girls ready to be assigned with adulthood were dressed in a simple manner, as Summerday required, but the Merchant Princes filled the Chantry, painting it with their lively, rich attire and soaking its air with their scent of leather and coffee, perfume and lavishness. If one looked closely enough, however, the crowd was far from being homogeneous—Queen Asha Campana, the Queen Mother of Thedas, had made sure of that when she had arranged for almost every Antivan family to marry outside the country. Now and then, a scrupulous eye could notice a particularly sturdy model of boots, a strict bun instead of a loose one, an uncommon love for fish and egg pies. In Antiva, there was a fragment of nearly every other country: Ferelden, Orlais, the city-state of Starkhaven. 

“Val Royeaux will never see eye to eye with this Chantry, Dorothea,” Leliana whispered at her friend’s ear as the boys and girls paraded in front of them. “Orlais loves to display its wealth and its elegance, but not inside the Chantry. Not in this way.”

“Let us hope the Revered Mother makes up for this unpromising picture and shows enough devotion to be convincing that the faith in the Maker is stronger than vanity,” Dorothea replied. “I must admit that, after Prince Goran Vael, I was hoping for something more… reassuring than this.”

Dorothea spoke the truth. Prince Goran Vael had received them in his marble palace, but despite the presence of the Revered Mother at his side, what they had seen was a weak man, afraid to take even a single step without someone guiding him. In fact, the Revered Mother had spoken far more than he had—which could mean that Prince Goran’s guiding hand was indeed the Chantry. An excellent prospect, in a way, but a weak ruler was like a dinner invitation for every force present in the city. In other words, the city of Starkhaven was unstable. As much as meeting Sebastian had been pleasant, Leliana regretted that he wasn’t the one sitting on Starkhaven’s throne. She could have trusted Sebastian. 

Out of the blue, a face in the crowd caught Leliana’s attention. Dark skin, black eyes, dark hair coifed in perfect Antivan style. A tingle in her guts told her she had seen that woman before, somewhere. Leliana quickly thought back at her days in Lothering Chantry. No, there had been no Lay Sister resembling the woman. That could only mean she had been in Orlais at a certain time during her lifespan. 

And Orlais meant trouble. If she remembered that woman’s face, then, it only meant she was somehow involved with the Orlesian bards. Leliana struggled to not tremble. What if that Antivan woman had been sent after her? What if Anora had decided that, after all, she was not to be trusted? 

The dark-skinned woman turned towards her, a questioning look in her eyes. There was something else in the lines of her face—a deep concern and several thoughts invaded her gaze a moment later. She didn’t offer Leliana more than a passing, distracted look. 

A less distrustful mind would dismiss every suspicion. Leliana, though, couldn’t take the slightest chance that the stranger was a menace. First of all, what was a bard doing in the same city as she was? Leliana didn’t really believe in coincidences. Not anymore. 

Without any toil, Leliana slipped into the bard mindset like she hadn’t done in years. Mingle with the crowd, don’t be noticeable, Marjolaine always told her. If the other bard was an enemy, she had already lost her advantage by letting her enemy know she was aware she was being watched. After all, an enemy convinced of having the upper hand is usually less cautious. Nonetheless, the Chantry was no place for a fight. The real confrontation would take place once the Summerday ceremony would be over. So Leliana patiently waited until the Revered Mother of Antiva placed her blessing on the girls and boys, now women and men ready to take their own pact. 

“Do you mind if I take a walk, Dorothea? I’ll be back in a while,” Leliana asked.

Mother Dorothea nodded. “We’re to meet the Revered Mother only tonight, at dinner. Take your time. I will be praying, then go back to the inn.”

When Leliana turned towards the crowd, the dark-skinned woman was still lingering amongst the crowd. Waiting for her to leave first, perhaps? It mattered little. Sooner or later, they had to get out in open. 

Let the game begin.

**_§§§_ **

The bright sun of Antiva flashed on Leliana’s face the moment she walked out of the Chantry doors. Having left the building first, she had at least an advantage: she could find a discreet spot and take a look at the woman’s behavior without being seen.

The crowded square across from the Chantry was just perfect for that purpose. Leliana chose to mingle with a large group of women busy examining several fabrics—standing by their side, surely their colorful dresses would make her brown, plain, and practical attire less noticeable in the crowd. She caressed a silk swatch, all the while throwing glances towards the Chantry. For several moments, the woman was nowhere to be seen. Leliana frowned. If the woman was out to get her, she was doing a poor job of it—in that time, she could have disappeared instead of remaining nearby and in reach. Had the Queen, or maybe the Carta, underestimated her and sent a novice against her?

Finally, the dark-haired woman appeared. She stood on the Chantry’s steps, and she indeed looked around carefully. Once again, though, something was wrong. Instead of a cold determination on her face, Leliana saw pure anguish. Sloppy, again. That woman was either a complete novice or the most deadly bard in all Orlais. 

Suddenly, she turned to the left, heading towards a near alley. Leliana followed. Whatever was happening, she had to know—she would follow the woman and either clear or confirm her suspicion. Leliana waited until she had taken a few steps, then took the alley as well, hiding behind a bunch of crates. Even from a distance, she could see that her step was quick, quick enough to define it as nervous. It could be a lure, sure, a perfect pretense to make her lure her guard, still…

A scream echoed in the air. Four men who came seemingly from nowhere had surrounded the woman, and she was trembling the same way Leliana’s own targets did before being terminated. Even if she was out to get her, someone else had decided to remove her from whatever game was being displayed in front of her eyes. As the four men circled their prey with seasoned grace, unsheathing their dagger, Leliana made her decision. That woman would live, if only to tell her the truth.

Taking a look above her head, Leliana saw several pieces of laundry hung. If she could manage to climb on the crates and use that laundry as a sort of rope, she could take the assassins by surprise. It could certainly work better than coming out of hiding and just running in their direction. The first crate creaked as Leliana stepped on it, prompting one of the men to turn just in time for her to kick him in the face. Letting go of the hung laundry, she jumped down as the man fell on his back, his hands covering his face and a rivulet of blood trickling down from his nose. Leliana kicked away the dagger fallen from his hands, exchanging a look with the dark haired woman. Weirdly enough, instead of arming herself as well, she cowered into a corner. 

While the wounded struggled to stand, his three companions focused on her, momentarily forgetting their target. Leliana cursed between her teeth—facing one assassin at a time was tricky enough, but three was nearly a suicide. She attempted to swerve to the right, in order to grab the woman and take her to safety, but the swiftest of the three moved right in front of her. Tightening her lips, she realized the only chance for her to make it out of that mess alive was to run back to the square. 

As Leliana was about to turn around and run, a swift movement from the shadows behind the assassins took her by surprise and a gloved hand cut the throat of the man nearest to her. Her savior flashed her a smile from behind the cloak before moving towards the next victim, his blade still in his hands. 

Leliana would recognize that rascal smile anywhere. They had not fought together since the Blight, but her instinct still remembered the perfect synchrony in which she and Zevran were able to fight together. Zevran sank his blade in one man’s gut, sending him right towards Leliana and allowing her to plunge her dagger in his heart. While Zevran took care of the last man standing, Leliana crushed under her foot the neck of the assailant whose nose she had previously broken. 

“There, all set. And we even managed to keep one prisoner alive. Even though,” Zevran smiled once again, charmingly as ever, as he walked by her side, “unlike I was, I don’t believe he’s worth sparing. Let’s just send him back to the Crows.”

“The Crows?” the mysterious dark haired woman asked in an unmistakably Antivan accent. Her voice trembled with fear, her eyes filled with horror at the sight of the blood on the ground. “They sent the Crows after me?”

 

Leliana remained silent, studying the woman’s face. And when she saw the horror in her eyes, she remembered—that woman was one of Marjolaine’s trainees, the one who had chosen to abandon the bard’s path after having found out that the rival bard she had thrown down a set of stairs was a friend of hers. Now, she had the same horror in her eyes as back then.

“Montilyet. Josephine Montilyet,” Leliana stated, staring at the former trainee. Now, all pieces fell into place—there was no way Montilyet could have been sent after her. She wasn’t a bard, or a spy. 

For a moment, Josephine stared at her suspiciously. Then, she exhaled. “I remember you. Leliana. Marjolaine’s little prodigy.”

Zevran looked at both women, crossing his arms. “I hate to interrupt this family reunion, but this,” he gestured at the corpses on the ground, “is not the ideal setting to chat.”

**_§§§_ **

Not much later, inside of an inn and in front of a hot, warming tea, Josephine explained to both Leliana and Zevran how she had been receiving threats since she had started trying to widen the Montilyets’ influence in the porcelain market. At first, she hadn’t worried—the Merchant Princes were notoriously vicious, prone to ruthlessness, but the market for Antivan products was, after all, large enough to let the Montilyets have their share too. In time, though, the tone of those threats had grown increasingly darker.

“And now, the Crows,” Josephine concluded, sighing. “Is my family supposed to starve to please some rival?”

Zevran leaned back on the chair in a relaxed motion. “I’ll tell you a secret, dear lady. The Crows will soon lose their legendary aura.”

Josephine looked somehow discouraged. “It’s difficult to believe.”

Leliana had listened silently, intently to every word. She remembered Josephine as a romantic soul, and yet there was much more of her. Her words revealed a deep understanding of trade and diplomacy, along with a stubborn desire to help her family. Josephine might not work as a bard, but could be an excellent ally for her and Dorothea. And now that Zevran was after the Crows… 

“What you need is a deterrence, Josephine. A reason for your enemies to not bother you. And I think we can help each other,” Leliana said. 

“I’m listening,” Josephine replied. 

“I’m here in Antiva with a Mother of Orlais. Our mission is to build unity amongst several Chantries, Antiva included. Help us reach out to the Chantry, teach us more about your city, and your family will benefit from the Chantry’s good word. Even in Antiva, it must mean something,” Leliana proposed. 

“Always the clever one, are you?” Zevran commented, winking at her. He added, turning towards Josephine, “Spread the news that there is someone in Antiva who wants the Crows dead. Tell everyone how I, the Black Shadow, saved your life. Let everyone know the Crows can be defied.”

Frowning, Josephine remained silent for a bit, evidently processing that information and weighing up the proposal. Finally, she nodded. 

“Consider yourself and the Mother accompanying you invited for lunch at the Montilyets’ house, tomorrow, Leliana. And I can assure you, the Black Shadow’s name will be on everyone’s lips in no time.”

Zevran and Leliana watched Josephine leave the inn in silence. As much as fighting together had tasted like a return to their origins, sitting together with him brought back to Leliana’s mind all kind of memories about the Blight. A time when everything was easier, yet filled with horror. 

It was Zevran who broke the silence. “So, you’re back to your old life, eh? The one you were actively trying to hide from.”

Leliana flinched. The partial truth of those words was something she was painfully aware of, and yet she vehemently denied it. “I’m not. I’m serving the Chantry.”

“Yes. But with which means?”

With the corner of her eye, she caught him smirking. She had seen him smirk uncountable times, but never with such bitterness. “What about you, then?” she asked. “You are back where you started, chasing your comrades down. It doesn’t seem to me you’re letting go of your previous way of life.”

Zevran turned serious all of a sudden. “True. But once I am free of them, I’ll be able to start over.” He didn’t pause enough to let her reply. “How is Adrian? Is he treating you properly?”

Clenching her fists, Leliana stiffened. She didn’t want to talk about Adrian nor about what her life was turning into. “He is in Amaranthine, taking care of the last leftovers of darkspawn.”

Quietly, Zevran stood. He stared at her for a few seconds before speaking again. “That doesn’t quite answer the question, my dear bard. I’ll certainly visit him once I can afford to take a breath and leave Antiva for some time. Send him my greetings, if you please.”

Leliana listened to the former Crow’s steps as he walked away. Once comrades, always comrades, perhaps? Zevran had spoken the truth she refused to acknowledge. The Chantry had offered her peace of mind before the Blight, but now it was the road leading her back to what she had been once.

**_Dragon 32, Justinian_ **

Finding The Diamond Lass almost full-booked had not been a surprise. Dorothea had warned Leliana that the College of Magi had chosen exactly those days for a Conclave—a move to be expected, considering how the mages had been instrumental in stopping the Blight. 

Nonetheless, their contact from the Chantry, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, had managed to make a way through the crowd of mages and Templars and show them to their rooms. Leliana couldn’t help but notice how she bore the same family name of the King of Nevarra, Markus Penthagast, but the woman had been so efficient and focused on her duty that Leliana had refrained from asking anything.

Now, as she and Dorothea were sitting at their table and enjoying their meal, Leliana felt more preoccupied with the reasons behind the Conclave. Undoubtedly, by standing up to Knight-Commander Greagoir Adrian had saved the lives of several humans and elves, but all the same, he had offered the mages a chance to bring into question the Circles. 

Leliana stared at the table in front of hers, where a group of Enchanters, accompanied by the Templars guarding them, was having dinner. She didn’t notice the visage of Grand Enchanter Briaus amongst them—perhaps he had already taken residence in the College of Magi? She did notice someone else familiar, though. Silver hair, a well-proportioned face despite the age, eyes shining with quiet intelligence. Apparently, Wynne had been chosen to represent the Circle of Ferelden. Suddenly, Leliana felt the need to stand and go speak to the mage—despite being ready to preach at anyone she thought in need of advice, Wynne had proved a friend more than once. 

Once the meal was over and mages and Templars stood, ready to get back to their chambers, Leliana walked towards the elder mage. 

“Wynne?” Leliana called out. 

The mage turned, a look of surprise on her face that melted into a warm smile. “Leliana. I must admit, it’s the last place I was expecting you to show up.”

Smiling in return, Leliana simply nodded. A single Templar was still standing not far from them—he didn’t rush them in any way, but she knew enough to decipher that behavior as a gentle reminder that mages weren’t supposed to stay up chatting all night in the common room of an inn. 

“Tomorrow’s the Conclave, I hear,” she simply said.

Wynne’s smile faded a bit. She didn’t completely drop it, but it was obvious that something wasn’t quite right. 

“Is something wrong? Are you alright?” Leliana asked, not bothering to hide the concern in her voice. 

Shrugging, Wynne nodded. “I hope so. The Libertarian faction has grown strong consequent to the Hero’s actions. Some are even suggesting to use force.” She twitched her mouth. “Obviously, they all forget what Uldred’s actions, a Libertarian, have caused.” 

Leliana pondered for a few seconds. It was to be expected, sure, but… “Do you think there’s cause for concern?”

Wynne grew pensive, holding her chin. “Although I can’t completely rule out the possibility that, yes, there might be, I can’t reasonably imagine mages rebelling against the Chantry. Many of us see reason, despite Enchanter Fiona’s propaganda.” Smiling again, she added, “Don’t mind me, Leliana. You know I’ve always been overcautious.”

**_Dragon 32, Solace_ **

As Leliana waited outside the Queen’s chambers to be summoned, she let the relief warm her up for the first time in months. The mission was over, her lips had remained sealed, and the outcome was successful. Even Anora could not complain. And to be fair, maybe she had been a bit too harsh in judging the Queen and thinking she could send an assassin after her. Now that she was almost free to go back to Adrian, Leliana allowed herself to ponder about Anora’s behavior—why had she chosen blackmail instead of simply ordering her to accompany Dorothea? An order from the Queen of Ferelden could not be ignored, so there was no need for blackmailing. Leliana recalled how, even after years on the throne as Cailan’s queen, the Landsmeet was far from willing to hand her Ferelden. Queen Anora probably had to fight for her whole life in order to be valued as a political asset—perhaps she was simply used to dealing with people from a position of force, just like her father had probably taught her. Not that any of this excused her behavior, but at least it could explain it.

The double doors opened, and a page boy walked towards Leliana. “You may come in, Milady. The Queen is expecting you.”

Leliana nodded. “Thank you.”

As she stepped into the room and the page closed the doors behind her, she spotted Anora immediately. The Queen was sitting in her preciously embroidered armchair. A cup of tea in her hands and a cold smile, just like their first meeting.

And just like their first meeting, everything was formal, the protocol was followed. Leliana reported about her and Dorothea’s mission, leaving out only her meeting with Zevran and her private, personal conversations. She explained how Mother Dorothea had been more than dutiful. If the Mother was to be a criterion to measure Orlais’ genuineness, Orlais could be trusted. 

Anora listened in silence, without interrupting her once. Her piercing eyes never left her face, no doubt trying to read every glimpse of emotion, but Leliana was almost relaxed this time. She had nothing to hide. And in the end, Anora looked satisfied.

“An excellent work. Just as I expected,” the Queen stated, having another sip of tea. 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Leliana replied. Part of her wished to ask if she was free to go, but in the end, she decided against it. That woman could still bite. So, she waited, holding her breath. 

“You are free to go, bard,” Anora finally declared, remaining seated. 

For a second, Leliana frowned. Why bring up her past training once again? She had obeyed. She had done her duty. Nonetheless, she carefully stood and took her first step towards the double doors.

“Not without a task to complete,” Anora added. 

Leliana abruptly turned. Confusion and surprise were all over her face, she was sure the moment she saw the Queen’s predatory smile. 

“Did you really think I would relinquish my bard’s services?” she asked. 

Blinking in amazement, Leliana was still unable to talk. It was not fair. Was she supposed to spend her whole life in service of that woman? Was that her toll to pay for her past?

“It’s simple enough,” Anora began, now standing in front of her. “You’re to go back to your lover as, I’m sure, your heart wishes. Easy enough, isn’t it? All you have to do is send me reports of what happens in Amaranthine, let me know how the Commander of the Grey behaves, whether the people support him or not, if the Arling is well administered. After all, I have to check on my subordinates.”

Leliana’s eyes widened. Surely the Queen had other people more than willing to spy on Adrian. Surely, a servant would be happy to be handsomely paid for such a simple task. 

“Your Majesty, I—“

The Queen placed a finger on her lips, preventing her from speaking. “You don’t want to ruin his life, we both know that.”

Yes, the Queen of Ferelden had worked hard to end up on the throne, and despite her skills she had had to turn for help to a Dalish elf to get what she wanted. And now, she couldn’t forgive Adrian for being in his debt. Leliana understood all of that in a blink of an eye, despite her bewilderment. Anora would never admit to being that susceptible to any person. 

“You’re right, my Queen,” Leliana whispered. She was trapped. She had no choice but obey. 

Anora’s smile beamed with victory. “I await your report, then. Have a safe journey.”

**_§§§_ **

“Please, come in.” The tall, dark-haired man wearing the Wardens‘ uniform smiled at Leliana as he gestured her to walk past him and enter Vigil’s Keep. “The Commander isn’t present at the moment. I’m sure you’ll be a ray of sunshine to meet you once he gets back.”

Relief was Leliana’s first emotion as she heard the man’s words. A moment later, she felt guilty—her task was hideous, but still, she would soon be reunited with her love. She should have been happy. She should not allow Anora to ruin her happiness. As the black-haired Warden stared at her, Leliana realized he was probably waiting for her answer. He clearly knew who she was, and it was weird for her to remain silent.

Leliana gulped softly, then asked, “Can I ask where he’s gone and when he will be back, Warden…?”

“Howe. I’m Nathaniel Howe,” the man introduced himself as they entered the throne room. “I’m in charge during the Commander’s absence, so if there’s anything you need you can count on me. That much I can say. Unfortunately, I am unaware of the Commander’s whereabouts, nor I know when he will come back. All I can say is that he left alone, apart from his Mabari.”

There was a glimpse of worry in Howe’s eyes. Alone, not even with an escort—he hadn’t said as much, but that was precisely his sentiment, no doubt. “Do you think he might be in danger?” Leliana asked, not bothering to hide her concern.

Nathaniel shrugged. “I have no idea. The Commander can handle himself, though, I’ll give him that. But he left in a rush and arranged every detail all by himself, so I really don’t have answers for you.” For a moment, he looked uncomfortable. “I am sorry, Lady Leliana. Now, if you excuse me,” he gestured towards a knot of people standing near the throne, “I have to get back to duty. Just ask a servant and he’ll show you your accommodations.”

“Thank you, Warden Nathaniel,” Leliana whispered. 

Exhaling, she sat on the bench nearest to the door. As relieved as she was to not have to deal with Adrian immediately, that news filled her with concern—yes, she knew the Mother was gone and Amaranthine was slowly rebuilding, she had met no darkspawn during her way to Vigil’s Keep, but was it really wise for him to travel alone? 

A faint sensation interrupted her thoughts. Someone was staring at her. Leliana turned around a couple of times, and it didn’t take her much to spot the owner of that gaze. It was a female elf—clearly a mage, she was holding a staff and wearing a tunic made of hide and fur, similar to the one she had seen Lanaya, First to Zathrian, wear. Everything about her looked Dalish. Her attire, her gaze full of pride, her arms crossed, as if she was defying anyone to come closer. There was something more, though. As much as Zathrian’s clan had seemed hostile, that Dalish looked more… thoughtful, pensive, instead of menacing. Studying the mage’s chiseled face and her gracious posture, Leliana couldn’t help but notice how the bun in which her blonde hair was arranged enhanced her beauty. A sudden fit of jealousy hit her. 

Without a word, Leliana stood and left the throne room. Thanks to a warm bath and a meal, she hoped she would be able to banish that unpleasant thought. 

Helped by a servant, she reached the dining hall in no time. The moment she entered, several pairs of eyes turned towards her—she was, after all, servants apart, the only one without Warden armor. And amongst the Wardens, as she surveyed the room, she noticed a familiar red beard. Not too surprisingly, Oghren had joined the Wardens. And maybe, just maybe, he knew something. Adrian and the dwarf had, after all, fought through the Blight together. No one forgets such a bond. 

When Oghren saw her walking towards his table, he shifted on his chair awkwardly. All he gave her was a quick look, before focusing on his soup once again. The dwarf had never been good at hiding his thoughts, in fact, he had always been very straightforward. And now he definitely looked like someone who had something to hide. There was little other reason for him to be uncomfortable in her presence, after all. None of that, though, stopped Leliana from sitting in front of him. In fact, his discomfort could prove rather useful, if she wanted to find answers.

“Long time no see, eh, Oghren?” Leliana started.

The dwarf startled, clearly feigning surprise. He stared at her, wide-eyed, then grinned. “Absolutely, Red. Absolutely. Ya’know, we were waiting for you to show up much earlier.”

“We?” she asked. 

“Yeah, we. Me, the Commander…” Oghren replied, clearing his throat upon mentioning Adrian. He took another spoonful of soup and swallowed. Quickly, too quickly. 

It was time to strike, before the dwarf shielded himself behind an excuse or his dirty jokes. “And you don’t happen to know where he’s left for, do you?”

“Bronto piss, woman!” Oghren exploded. “Have you ever heard of, uh, Warden secrets? Have you?” When Leliana didn’t answer at all, he added, “Good. Because I did. And it has to be some sodding Warden secret.”

Leliana hadn’t failed to notice how Oghren had faltered when he had mentioned ‘Warden secrets’. Whatever her old comrade was hiding, it was no doubt something he didn’t want to tell her. 

“I suppose so,” she said, turning her back on Oghren and leaving. Now, she would have to tell the Queen that the Arl of Amaranthine had gone off somewhere unknown, alone, and left the Arling in other hands. It was something the Queen would certainly not like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you probably have realized already, we're about to step into Witch Hunt. The journey of these characters is still long, but we've just reached a... substantial section of the story. 
> 
> I must admit I'm curious: what are your thoughts so far? Any opinion is welcome! ;)


	18. The guiding light of a shard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan and Merrill's search for the Eluvian starts. 
> 
> Both women have their reasons to pursue the artifact, but Morrigan could never imagined what's required of her to gain the right to see and touch the Eluvian...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hello, readers! I know it’s been some time since the last update, and I wish to apologize. When I posted the last chapter, I had no idea I would have been so caught up in summer and its wonders to have so little time left for writing._
> 
>  
> 
> _I hope this chapter makes up for the delay. I thought a lot about how Morrigan could reach the Eluvian without using the same path as the Warden’s, I tried to imagine what was written in the Elven book she stole from Ariane’s clan._
> 
>  
> 
> _Here’s my attempt as an answer. I hope you’ll enjoy! Please let me know what you think, if you’ve got a mind!_

**_Dragon 32, Justinian_**  
By the time Morrigan entered the Pilgrim Path’s inn, she was exhausted. The crossing had been a nightmare, the babies’ piercing cry was almost making her ears bleed, the innkeeper was taking his sweet time to take care of her and Merrill, but simply brushing her hands on her bag made Morrigan feel triumphant.  
Caressing the shape of the Dalish tome hidden in her bag, Morrigan recalled the way she had tricked those elves firstly, not to chase her away, but most importantly how they had basically allowed her to enter Keeper Solan’s private tent. All she had needed to do had been to use her shapeshifting abilities. The witch suppressed the urge to chuckle. Two crows once had led Dirthamen to his brother Falon’din—now, one had stolen their precious relic. As her magic had molded her limbs, she had perceived the power in her veins stronger than she ever had, and all her fears about losing her magic due to the twins had disappeared.  
Morrigan was now stronger than ever, and she held in her hands the key to the Eluvian. Soon Mother would be a vanquished nightmare. Soon, her babies would be safe.

**_§§§_ **

Valena and her brother were finally tucked in. Confused and scared by those new, unknown surroundings, it had taken the two infants some time to adjust and calm down. Now, they were sleeping peacefully and would be for a couple of hours if she and Merrill were lucky.  
Morrigan turned to find the Dalish elf head-bowed on the tome, sitting on the bed.

“Did you find anything relevant?” she asked in a whisper, sitting by the other woman’s side. 

Merrill didn’t even bother to look at her. She was utterly, totally focused on the Dalish tome, as if those pages were the only thing in the world worth her attention. “Something. But—it would be easier if you gave me some time to sit down and actually read this. You insisted on leaving Amaranthine in such a rush that I barely had time to look at the tome’s cover.” She grumbled, then, “Not to mention that I would have liked to pay a visit to Mahariel.”

Morrigan kept silent, enduring the Dalish’s newfound nerve. It appeared that when it came to elven lore, and old friends, Merrill was far more than the timid, rambling girl she had met in Kirkwall. “Aren’t we here to restore an Eluvian? Yes, Isabela has bought you some time by telling Hawke and the others that you were on a researching trip, but you know as well as I do that if you grow late they will worry. Plus, you can always see Mahariel,” she struggled to keep her tone impersonal, “before boarding the ship to travel back to Kirkwall.” She wouldn’t have allowed her traveling companion to go and meet Adrian under any circumstance. Doing so would have meant letting him know that they were was in town, and there was no telling how he could react—considering Oghren had spotted her, Adrian probably knew already. One more reason to leave Amaranthine as fast as possible. 

The Dalish mage sighed, but didn’t retort at all. Instead, she focused on the text before her. “There,” she pointed at a specific line of the text. “It says the Eluvians are connected. Linked, somehow. They lead to different destinations, but they’re nonetheless made of the same substance.”

The witch took her time in studying the words before her. Apart from reaching the Eluvian, her goal was also to expand her knowledge of the elven language—a goal that Merrill didn’t need to be let it on. Still, her main concern remained the mirrors. And the solution was right there, where Adrian and Merrill’s clan had encamped before the Blight. If the Eluvians were made of the same matter, one fragment of the mirror that had killed Tamlen could be enough to track down the others, perhaps. Still, Morrigan had to bite her tongue and keep the suggestion to herself, or Merrill would wonder how she knew about Tamlen’s fate. “We’d need another Eluvian, though. Wouldn’t we? And there’s none at disposal.”

Merrill calmly stood and walked to where she had left her baggage. She knelt and searched through her things. “We don’t have another Eluvian, but,” she stood, showing a vitreous, humming with magic fragment, “we have the next best thing.”

As Morrigan wondered if that was exactly the fragment she was thinking about, the Eluvian piece hissed. Its was barely audible and didn’t contain discernible words. “Do you happen to know how to create a… bridge to the other mirrors, too?” she asked in a whisper. 

As she put the fragment back in the backpack, the Dalish mage replied, “The mirror this piece comes from was blighted—and only living creatures can be subject to the Blight. Which means that Eluvians are somehow… living creatures that perhaps have a mind of their own. Which means they can be handled through...” she hesitated, biting her upper lip, “… blood magic.”  
Without so much as frowning, Morrigan spoke. “Let’s do it, then. There’s no time to waste.” And she meant it. She had no idea why Mother hadn’t shown up at Merrill’s door yet, but she was determined to make use of that unexpected advantage.

At first, Merrill simply stared at her in amazement. After having blinked, a couple of times, she asked, “Are you not going to preach at me and tell me I’m playing with something bigger than me?”  
Morrigan repressed a laugh. Never in her life had she thought someone could mistake her for a moral person, one of those people who worry about what the Chantry or the Circles dictated. She was the Witch of the Wilds, and the laws of those big, civilized cities were not hers. Not unless she had a say. “I want to survive. I want my children to survive. If I have to take unconventional paths to make sure of it, I will.”  
The Dalish elf blinked again, obviously disoriented. Then, she exhaled as if she was relieved. “I guess—all right, then.” She stood, pacing briefly around the room. “The Eluvian is a living being. Right now, it is linked to other Eluvians already, but we can’t visualize that… bridge. We need it to recognize us, to somehow… be part of the network. And that’s where my magic can help. I can try to connect our blood with its essence. I’m not sure, though, it’ll accept not-elven blood. I can’t guarantee that.”

It took but a moment to Morrigan to offer her hand to Merrill. “Go ahead.”

In silence, Merrill retrieved the fragment once again, placing it on the table. Then, she proceeded to unsheathe the knife in her belt and place Morrigan’s index finger near the fragment. To her surprise, the Witch noticed that the knife was nothing but a common weapon, without any runes or special decorations. Standing by her side, Merrill began chanting in her mother tongue—making out the words proved impossible, both due to the nature of the elven language and the fact that the mage was merely whispering. As Merrill kept on chanting, she placed her own index finger side by side with Morrigan’s. The cut was quick and almost painless, barely scratching the skin, but it was still enough to pour some drops of both elven and human blood on the fragment. The Eluvian fragment shone like a ruby as it began absorbing the red liquid on its surface. Once there was no more of Merrill’s blood it hummed briefly. Something was wrong on Morrigan’s part, though—the fragment seemed to have trouble suckling her blood. It managed to imbibe only one drop, as the fragment suddenly grew silent and receded to its natural color.  
Slowly, almost expecting her cut to hurt as a manifestation of the fragment’s rejection, Morrigan waited. Nothing of the sort happened. Neither she or Merrill talked, and when she turned she caught the elf looking at the fragment in amazement. 

“It rejected you, as I expected, but… not entirely,” Merrill whispered. She turned. “Is there any elven blood running in your veins? That’s the only explanation I can think of.”

Grimacing, the Witch shook her head. “I’d rather have elven parents than—“ she began. “No. Not that I know of.” She stood. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get some sleep while the children are asleep.”

Morrigan heard the Dalish’s voice when she was halfway to the bed already. “It might work, you know? Your connection to the Eluvian, as feeble as it is, can be reinforced, provided that you give it a chance to understand who you are and what you want from it. If you won’t, the mirror will always reject you, and your trip will bear no results.”

It was with that faint hope that she finally lay down to sleep. Nothing but a hope, of course. She had never allowed anything and anyone close enough to reveal who she really was. And yet if that meant to keep her babies safe, she would give it a try. Just a try.  
If only she knew how to.

**_§§§_ **

“Denerim? Really?” Morrigan asked, as she and Merrill entered the town. “Why would an Eluvian be here?”

“I’m as baffled as you,” Merrill replied, and added, “It’s even bigger than Kirkwall. So many people! And look at the market!”

For some reason, the Dalish’s excited tone annoyed Morrigan to no end—Valena and her brother’s weight were starting to make her back ache, she was exhausted and sleep deprived. Adding an overly excited, squealing Merrill to the mix was too much for her patience. 

The little Valena chose exactly that moment to wake up, look around with her big, green eyes, open them wide, and, probably scared upon seeing all those people around her, start crying.  
Morrigan sighed, even more exasperated. Holding the child to her chest, she desperately tried to think about a lullaby, a sweet song, anything she always heard Lothering’s people whisper to their children. Unfortunately, she had never been interested enough to stop and listen, nor had Mother ever sung her a lullaby. As she clumsily caressed the baby’s head, the increasing sound of Valena’s cries filled her ears until she closed her eyes, trying to ignore the sound and Merrill’s request to try and hold the baby to calm it. Deep in her heart, Morrigan prayed Valena’s brother didn’t wake up and follow his sister‘s example and remain quiet. Unlike the rather restless Valena, thankfully the boy slept deeper and more frequently.

“You look in dire need of help, my lady,” called a feminine, gentle voice. 

The Witch of the Wilds opened her eyes. In front of her and Merrill was a young woman. Her hair was red just like Leliana’s, but the look in her eyes was more transparent than the bard’s. There were no mysteries behind those hazel eyes.  
“If you’re a nanny looking for a hiring, you’re wasting your time,” Morrigan replied harshly.

Instead of leaving, though, the red-headed stranger pinched Valena’s little nose in a sudden gesture. The toddler magically stopped crying and cooed in pleasant surprise. Not less amazed than her daughter and relieved by the sudden silence, Morrigan stared at the stranger. 

“I’m no nanny, my lady. My name is Bella, and I’m the owner of _The Warden’s Rest_.” The woman, Bella, pointed at a simple, yet well finished building not far from the city gates. “And since you look like you’ve just arrived in Denerim, you’re welcome to my tavern, if you like.” She offered a brief, but warm smile. “My sister just delivered. I apply a special discount to mothers.” Before leaving, she added, “You know where to find me.”

Once again, Morrigan was taken by surprise by the world. Before the Blight, she had expected cities and towns to be nests of vipers, ready to shoo people like her—but apparently, now that she was a mother, she was welcome to mix with the people. 

“ _The Warden’s Rest_. A curious name for a tavern. Isn’t it?” Merrill asked. 

“Quite,” Morrigan whispered in reply. Now that she could think clearly, she couldn’t shake the feeling she had seen Bella somewhere else. And that name. Why would anyone—the realization suddenly hit her. Of course. It was her, the tavern wench of Redcliffe Adrian had helped to leave for Denerim. No wonder she had named her tavern after him. 

“So, are we going to accept that gentle lady’s offer? I think we should. We don’t have that much money and…” Merrill continued. 

Ignoring the Dalish’s babbling, Morrigan wondered whether the tavern wench had recognized her. Consider how cluelessly she had acted, it didn’t seem so, but what if a few more glances could do the trick? Nonetheless, Merrill was right. They needed a room for the night, and they needed a cheap place.  
“I suppose we will,” the Witch finally agreed.

* * *

The only available room at _The Warden’s Rest_ turned out to be the loft. It was a small, but intimate, quiet place, where Morrigan could finally make the twins go to sleep. When she managed to, Merrill was sleeping already. The only sound in the loft was the soft breathing of its occupants.  
She was dead tired, but at the same time she was also aware that those few hours before dawn were the only time she could sit down and think peacefully. Ever since the birth of her children, Morrigan had been running. Running away from Mother, running from one place to another to keep them warm, to find a place to rest at night, to take care of them. This was truly the first time she managed to stop, to consider how her life had truly changed.  
The Witch of the Wilds sat in front of the window. The light of the Royal Palace beamed in the night, like the shining symbol of how the Blight had been defeated.  
The Royal Palace.  
The Royal Palace, Morrigan realized, was the last place where she had been simply Morrigan the Witch of the Wilds, the enchantress aiding the Wardens against the Archdemon. There, the twins had been conceived. She still remembered how her anger and wounded pride had prompted her to approach Loghain and convince him to lay with her, but ever since she had held the babies those negative feelings had been replaced by a fond, intense, alien yet at the same time familiar feeling, a need to protect the two beings she had given life to. Sometime along the way, she had decided anger and wounded pride had been worth it all.  
Even if the father of her children was nowhere to be found and had no intention whatsoever to actually act as a father. Not that Morrigan would allow him to, in any case—to him, those two precious lives were merely a means to get back at the Banns, while she loved her children in a way she could never have imagined.  
Another memory resurfaced in her mind. Her ring thrown against one of the Royal Palace’s room, her adamant voice, Adrian’s pleading.

_"Then we would be two fools! Love's a distraction, a danger, people like you and I aren't allowed to love each other!"_

_""Love's not a distraction or a danger! I want you here, with me, you and no one else. Please, release your feelings, allow yourself to make the choice for once! I told you, remember? You don't have to be as harsh as you learned to be in the Wilds!"_

Her desperate attempt to save him, his disdain and rage.

_""I thought the last time we talked I was clear. Whatever there was between us is over. I'm not a puppet to play with whenever you change your mind, Morrigan. So I'll tell you once more. Get out."_

_""This is not about you and me. This is about your survival. I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE! Don't you understand?”_

Adrian and Loghain were as different as fire and ice. While Adrian was passionate about his feelings—too passionate, Morrigan remembered as Leliana’s face flashed in her mind, he was still ready to go out of his way to provide for the ones he cared for. Loghain, on the other hand, was driven by his thirst for vengeance and recognition, something that had drawn them to one another that fateful night. That, and nothing else.  
For the first time, Morrigan realized that Adrian was right at least in one regard: love wasn’t necessarily a weakness. Her love for her children had made her strong enough to stand against Mother with a determination she’d never dreamed of before. What else was she, or had she been, wrong about, she wondered?  
Somewhere in the dark in the room, a faint red light broke through the shadows. Morrigan furtively, trying to not wake anyone, approached that red light—it came from Merrill’s backpack, and now she could see that its source was the Eluvian fragment. When Morrigan touched it, it felt tepid under her fingers. And for the first time, she didn’t perceive any rejection from it.

**_§§§_ **

“But how can the children sleep quietly if we encamp? Are you su—“

“I said I hate that inn, Merrill. It’s dirty, it’s full of drunkards and definitely not safe for any of us. I won’t set foot in there. If you want to, you’re welcome to try your luck,” Morrigan snapped. 

Morrigan took a look around. The moonlight was glittering on Lake Calenhad’s waters, and the hill was silent and quiet. The surroundings of the Circle of Ferelden weren’t, after all, a destination sought out by merchants, especially after what had happened during the Blight. People were still whispering, wondering if an army of abominations was about to crawl out of the lake. Morrigan snorted. Ignorant peasants. The question really jumping through her brain, though, was why the Eluvian had taken them by Lake Calenhad. During the Blight, the Wardens had patrolled the wooded area around the docks enough for her to know that there was no Eluvian around. It couldn’t be inside the Circle Tower either, because she had accompanied Adrian inside and visited every single room. 

“I suppose that if we keep near enough to the _Spoiled Princess_ ’ lights wolves won’t disturb us,” Merill finally agreed, somewhat reluctantly. 

Morrigan threw another longing glance toward the _Spoiled Princess_. In truth, she had no desire to sleep outside, she would rather have a comfortable bed under her tired back, but she simply couldn’t afford the risk. Felsi, Oghren’s fiancée, could still be employed at the Inn, and for all she knew the female dwarf could have kept in contact with him.  
While Merrill set up camp, Morrigan sat on the lake’s bank. The pleasant summer breeze caressed her skin, the babbling of water soothed her anxiety a bit. She had always loved water and its babbling. As a child, she had spent so many hours near the stream flowing all over the Wilds. There, by Calenhad Lake, she had waited for Adrian to return and give her the news that Mother was dead and gone.

_“She’s gone, Morrigan. She won’t bother you any further… You are safe.”_

_“Such a surprising accomplishment, Warden. I wasn’t sure she could even be killed.”_

_“There’s no beast a Dalish hunter can’t track down and defeat.”_

_“You risked your life for me. Despite knowing how powerful Mother was, you didn’t hesitate for a second. I… am not used to receive such kindness. I believe I have been difficult, Warden, and yet, while you could have ignored me completely, you went to lengths I never imagined could exist in a… relationship.”_

_“You could have rebuffed my attempts at gentleness, Morrigan. You didn’t. Not that I’m that surprised, after all… And you better get used to me caring for you.”_

The Witch of the Wilds sighed heavily. She perfectly remembered both her confusion after Adrian’s confession, and her subsequent clarity of mind. Even though she was unable to understand the reasons behind Adrian’s words, it had been crystal clear to her—he could be easily manipulated. Which was exactly what she needed to do.  
Something else flashed in her mind. She had never stopped to think how Adrian could feel, if he could suffer from being tricked into a relationship.

_“You better get used to me caring for you.”_

No tricks, no lies. He had offered just the simple truth. And she had returned him a deceit and possibly a broken heart. She had told herself that was what she had needed to do to save herself, that she couldn’t trust him or anyone else. She had reinforced that belief upon learning of his relationship with the bard. Nonetheless, Morrigan realized, she hadn’t been much more honest with Adrian. 

“What the—you better come look at this, Morrigan!” Merrill called. There were both surprise and excitement in her voice. 

Slowly, Morrigan stood. “Quiet you’ll wake the child—“ she began, only to fall silent, wide eyed. 

In Merrill’s hands, the Eluvian fragment was shining again, and this time its fissures had turned into glittering lines. Instinctively, Morrigan held out her hand. The crystal felt warmer.  
The Witch of the Wilds smiled.

“I think… I think it’s reacting. To you,” Merrill smiled. “You’re not a stranger anymore.”

**_§§§_ **

The last three weeks of travel had left Morrigan exhausted, dirty, and thoughtful. The nights encamped near Lake Calenhad hadn’t helped either. Neither she or the twins had been that pleased to lay down on the grass, and they had made their displeasure loud and clear through several sleepless nights.  
The fragment had guided her and Merrill to Redcliffe, according to the blood mage. Perhaps, Lady Isolde had been hiding more than a child with magic, perhaps there was an Eluvian too somewhere in Redcliffe Castle. Her suspicion, though, had proved wrong: the fragment pointed south, outside of Redcliffe.  
Still, Morrigan was too tired to keep riding, and their horses too needed a bit of rest. Fortunately, Lloyd, the grouchy owner of Redcliffe’s tavern, had always been too busy harassing his employer to take an actual look at travelers’ faces, and had barely blinked upon seeing Morrigan.  
She had finally managed to have the twins fall asleep, Merrill was off to run some errands, and now she had the room all to herself. She took her time bathing, enjoying the hot water and taking particular care in washing her hair. Her raven, silky hair had always been her pride, and she wasn’t going to neglect it anymore. During that last year, she noticed, her hair had grown wildly and irregularly. It was time to trim it.

Morrigan took hold of her knife, then hesitated. To trim it properly, she needed a mirror. And the only mirror she owned was her golden mirror. Adrian's gift, the same one she had more or less repaired after having almost destroyed it out of rage while traveling on the _Seabear_. Straightening her shoulders, she mustered her courage. She wasn’t a lost, little girl. She was a grown woman, a mother, and she couldn’t let a mere object steal her resolve.  
Focusing on the reflecting surface, ignoring the golden carvings, she worked on one lock after another, until she was satisfied with the result. In the end, after a year’s time, what she saw in the golden mirror was a beautiful woman.  
A beautiful woman.

_“You must wish something in return, certainly."_

_"It's simply a gift. For a beautiful woman."_

_"I’m not used to receive gifts. I have never received a gift in my life."_

_“It was about time you did, then. You are the bravest and most unafraid woman I’ve ever met, Morrigan. You’re not afraid of judgment, you take for you the life you want, simple as that, and you possess the ability to make everyone around you believe they possess the same power. Those who are too afraid to grab what they wish are merely envious of you. Maybe, not having received a gift before is what made you so strong. However, now you deserve every gift.”_

_"I am uncertain what to say. I… Thank you, Adrian.”_

_“Would you find me at fault if I took a chance in getting what I want… who I want, Morrigan?”_

There, in Redcliffe, their relationship had begun. To him, trapped by a Grey Warden’s duty, away from his home, she had been a role model, the hope that one day he could choose for himself. To her, that bond had been the perfect way to give birth to Urthemiel’s vessel.  
In the end, though, he had denied her the child. In the end, she was nothing like the role model he imagined her to be. She had been scared to death of Mother, she had been afraid of the world, afraid that it would turn her and her children away, she had found out that what she wanted wasn’t a child. She had driven him away due to her own fear.  
Morrigan looked once again at the dark-haired woman in the mirror. She had been terrified, she had been on the run, but somehow she was still the strong woman Adrian had admired so much. She was still strong enough to protect the ones she loved, and she knew what it meant to love another being.  
The fragment shone, for the third time. And when the Witch of the Wild touched it, she heard its whispering, even though the words were still unintelligible.  
It was talking to her, at last. It was growing ready to lead her to the Eluvian.

**_§§§_ **

The Korcari Wilds opened up in front of Morrigan and Merrill. Even the twins, as if amazed by the wilderness in front of them, widened their eyes and merely cooed.

“Is that it? Is the Eluvian hidden there, where so few men and women dare to set foot? Protected by the unworthy’s curiosity?” Merrill whispered.

“I guess we’ll have to find out,” Morrigan replied. “Follow me, and you won’t get lost, nor end up in the lair of some beast.”

Merrill half-opened her mouth, clearly about to ask something, but Morrigan brushed her off simply by starting to walk.

Two years of traveling, away from the Wilds, had not erased the memory of the tiny, half-hidden path leading to Flemeth’s hut, once her home, nor her familiarity with the area. She knew exactly where the stream ran, she could have led Merrill to the Chasind’s lair without blinking an eye. And somewhere, far in the northern bushes, was the spot where she had lost her virginity to Kieran, one of the Chasind. He had been the first man to show her tenderness, and also the first she had driven away, following Mother’s advice.

_“Don’let him fool you, Morrigan. He had what he wanted, and if you don’t reject him first, he’ll be the one throwing you away like an old rag.”_

_“But Mother, you don’t even know wh-“_

_“Have I ever allowed you to question my words, girl? Shut up and listen to me. Men will always want sex from you, and you will offer it from time to time. Not because I say so, because you will want it too. Letting them too near to your soul, however, is another whole matter. Don’t allow any man to grow close enough, ever. The Chasind got what he wanted. You got what you wanted. It’s done.”_

Morrigan had believed Mother’s words so blindly that she had read some kind of trickery into Kieran’s request to see her again, and had ended up rebuffing his proposal. Until now, it had never occurred to her that Kieran could have been sincere.

She stopped in the middle of the path. She didn’t want to be the person her mother had taught her to be.  
She was still the Witch of the Wilds, and she would always be. Still, there was a whole world outside the Wilds—a world she meant to show her children in all its shades and lights.  
She would have shown Valena and Kieran—that’s how she named her male child, to somehow make it right to the Chasind—all the good in the world.

Silently, Merrill walked by her side, offering her the shining Eluvian fragment. All Morrigan needed, this time, was a soft touch.

“North. Where the dragonbone rests,” Morrigan murmured.


	19. Hunting down a blur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, the Witch Hunt starts. 
> 
> Adrian knows Morrigan is elusive and mysterious. What he ignores, is that she's become almost a stranger to him. What are her goals? Where is she going? Is she... alone?
> 
> How can a hunter follow a prey whose ways are mystery?

**_Dragon 32, Justinian_**

Everything was packed. The maps of Ferelden, enough rations for a week-long trip, his daggers, camping equipment. Adrian had put Nate in charge, without explaining the reason or duration of his sudden trip, and the fellow Warden had not asked any questions. Perhaps Nate had seen the sparkle of determination in his eyes, perhaps he knew what it meant to hold secrets close.  
Morrigan’s return had filled him with a tornado of mixed emotions and painful memories. Guilt, because she was a stain in his past, someone he had betrayed and who had betrayed him, not to mention how him going after Morrigan, he knew, was unfair to Leliana. Hope, that those children were his sons after all, because this could mean some kind of reunion and the chance to make things right between them. Confusion, due to her silence and the way she had ignored him despite being in Amaranthine. Sometimes, halfway to sleep, he pictured himself holding the babies, teaching them how to walk and speak, watch them grow into strong people like their mother. A family was what he was meant to raise, not an army of warriors. Adrian knew he could not be sure of being the babies’ father, but he could not help daydreaming. He could convince Morrigan to raise the children together. Could he, though, persuade Leliana to accept the presence of a son born out of her womb? Their bond was stronger and more reliable than anything he ever experienced in his life, something he could always count on. She was his safe harbor, the certainty in his future. Still, he had never confessed her his dalliance with the Witch, and perhaps it was time to. Not to mention how doing otherwise would be unjust towards his heirs—any child of his definitely deserved being recognized and grow side by side with his father.  
Adrian realized he hadn’t talked to anyone prior leaving, not even Velanna—something the Dalish mage was certainly furious about. Still, it was better that way. Unlike Nate, she would have asked questions, and even though Adrian treasured her harsh, inquiring attitude as the proof of their friendship and a means to spur him whenever he needed, this time, he wasn’t in need of encouragement. And maybe, he admitted to himself, Velanna still reminded him of Morrigan too much. Yes, the elven Warden was, beneath her armor, way more fragile than the Witch had ever been, still…  
Adrian swallowed another knot of guilt. A small part of him whispered of desire, no matter how much he fought it for Leliana’s sake, no matter how much he tried to repress the flashes of those passionate moments, the image of two bodies intertwined together, the softness of her raven hair between his fingers At times, he hated himself for being still drawn to Morrigan despite having recognized his feelings as mere lust already.

The moment Adrian stepped out of Amaranthine’s gates, though, a simple, clear thought crossed his mind. He had no idea where to start his search. Yes, since Morrigan was traveling with children she had probably taken one of the main roads—but which one? To where?  
Adrian almost gasped in shock. He didn’t know where Morrigan was, or could be, taking the children. He wasn’t aware if there was a husband or a fiancée by her side. And on second thought, he was quite shocked at the mere idea of Morrigan as a mother. So many times he had daydreamed of being a father, that he had forgotten how much the woman who had traveled with him during the Blight was different from how a mother was commonly perceived. Clearly, something he wasn’t aware of had happened to her and turned her into a completely different person. 

How can a hunter follow a prey whose habits and patterns were unknown?

Adrian turned west, where the road led to Highever. Teyrn Cousland’s soldiers patrolled the Teyrnir constantly. He would know if a dark-haired woman carrying two babies with her entered his territory. In Denerim, on the other end, he could find little help, and possibly meet some old, unpleasant enemies.  
Turning the horse west, he whistled at his mabari, Dhar. So, their hunt began.

**_§§§_ **

“Of course I have guards stationed at the boundary lines of Highever, Commander. Keeping track of every peasant’s appearance and name is another matter entirely, though. I’d be pleased to help, but sadly my hands are tied. I have no idea whether a woman with two infants has entered my lands.”

Adrian listened to Fergus Cousland’s reply, a frown forming on his forehead. Given the number of people entering Highever every day, mothers were certainly a common sight, and certainly keeping track of every single person would be tiring and useless. Somewhat defeated, he sighed. The only lead he had at his disposal had proved of no use. He lowered his gaze.

“Unless…” Cousland continued, a pensive expression on his face.

Looking up, Adrian noticed Fergus studying his face. 

“… it’s important for you, isn’t it? Why else would you leave Amaranthine and embark on a search that might take months? Who is this woman you’re seeking, Commander? Is she some kind of criminal you need to hunt down, perhaps someone who made an attempt on you or your lands under your enemies’ orders?”

“No! Nothing like that!” the Dalish exclaimed. “She is…”. He shut his mouth close. This search was his hope to make something right. Morrigan was. 

Cousland narrowed his eyes, then relaxed. Finally, he nodded. “If some other noble was standing in front of me and making me this same request, I’d fear for that woman’s life. There are many reasons why a man might wish to hunt down a woman with children, and few of them are benevolent. You are different from that lot, though.” He gave pause, staring at Adrian once again. “I take it that to question all my soldiers is not an option. Let alone promulgate a poster portraying this woman. If you’re not willing to disclose your reasons to me, you’re certainly against making this issue public.”  
Fergus’ respect made Adrian feel ashamed. True, he wasn’t going after Morrigan for the sake of vengeance, but he wasn’t innocent and pure-hearted either. Yet another fact he couldn’t afford to share with the Teyrn of Highever. He bit his lip, trying to prevent that shame for showing clear on his face. 

“You’re right. I don’t think it would be wise.” Adrian raised his eyes. “Does that mean you definitely have no help to offer me?”

Standing, Fergus Cousland replied. “On second thought, there might be something I can do. Will you allow me to talk to a merchant I’ve known for years now? He travels from Highever to Denerim on a regular basis, and he’s an honest man. Someone I trust enough to ask him to keep quiet about this matter.” He clarified, “I won’t mention you.”  
It looked like that this was his best chance. If Fergus trusted the man, so did Adrian—plus, it was highly unlikely that a common merchant would even know who Morrigan was. 

“Thank you, Your Lordship,” Adrian replied.

**_§§§_ **

Denerim was the same old chaotic town Adrian remembered from the Blight—yet the capital had truly flourished since the end of the Fifth Blight. Once Denerim was brought to its knees by the darkspawn menace, and even though the population gritted its teeth all it could do was survive. Now, a stranger coming from another world would never have guessed that such a rich, noisy city had ever withstood a siege and lived through a potentially deadly battle. Perhaps, Adrian considered as he led his horse through the crowd, Anora had truly been the right choice for Ferelden. As a pang of guilt crossed his whole body, he stopped. Maybe, if given the chance, Alistair would have done even better. No matter who reigned, though, to him Denerim remained the target of the Archdemon’s attack. His eyes drifted towards the Royal Palace. The target of the Archdemon’s attack and the place where…  
Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his mind, Adrian resumed his pace. Dwelling in the past was no use, right now his priority was Morrigan. That Highever merchant had reported seeing someone resembling her traveling on the Pilgrim’s Road, towards Denerim—weirdly enough, the man had also said that Morrigan wasn’t alone. A female Dalish elf was apparently traveling with her, and both were riding a horse. Adrian frowned. What business could a Witch of the Wilds have in common with a Dalish woman? Did that mean that Morrigan had changed far more than he expected? Sighing, he realized that it was yet another question without an answer. However, maybe, just maybe, his search was about to conclude. The mother of two infants, accompanied or not, certainly traveled slower than a fit man trained to battle, such as him.

Finally able to focus on his task, Adrian surveyed the central square of Denerim. Morrigan was no doubt more experienced and much less helpless than any other woman, and mother, could be, but she was still traveling with two children. She would need a proper bed in which to rest, and that meant she’d probably spent at least a night in one of the capital’s inns. Also, chances were she would not have risked choosing an inn placed on the outskirts, considering she knew very well that under Denerim’s clean face hid a nest of crime.  
Everything considered, his best bet was the Gnawed Noble Tavern. 

As Adrian headed towards the tavern, something caught his attention. A flash of red, flowing hair, which painfully reminded him of Leliana, not without a pang of guilt. The woman wearing that hair was far different from his vhenan, though. Shorter, more cheerful, dressed like a barmaid. Adrian stared at Bella, the former waitress of Redcliffe Tavern, as she made her way through the crowd—he wasn’t that surprised to find her here, in Denerim, since he was the one who had offered her enough money to walk away from Lloyd and Redcliffe. The relief to see a friendly face was greater than he expected, considering how Denerim, to him, was a nest of vipers ready to bite, even more now that Anora sat on the Fereldan throne. And maybe Bella could help him in his quest. 

When Adrian walked towards her, he noticed the shape of a new building, one not present in the city prior to the Blight. An inn named The Warden’s Rest. He stopped, covering his leather armor, including the garnished griffon, with his cloak—attracting attention wasn’t something he wished to do, and a Warden walking into that tavern would have certainly turned heads.  
Just a few moments before Bella disappeared inside The Warden’s Rest, Adrian caught sight of her fiery mane. He followed, and entered the common room. It was a wide, welcoming space, furnished with tables, a couple of couches, and a big hearth. Behind the counter, Bella was serving beers to a group of customers.  
Adrian waited until those customers had taken a seat before nearing the counter. Nonetheless, Bella called to him before he could actually reach her. 

“Can I help you,” she began, eyeing him with a certain curiosity. Her gaze stopped on the visible parts of his armor. “soldier? You look weary, and in dire need of a fresh drink. Perhaps a beer, or a glass of wine, if you prefer.”

Mead. How he would love a mug of mead. Mead, however, was an uncommon choice for a Fereldan, or for someone who wished to pose as one. “Wine would be perfect,” Adrian replied, leaning on the counter. “White, if you please.”

“There you go,” Bella said, offering the chalice with a gentle smile. She opened her eyes wide as she laid them on his face. She half-opened her mouth to talk. 

Placing his index finger on his lips, he gestured her to keep quiet. After he took a sip of wine, he declared, “I’d like a room. A single room.”  
The innkeeper nodded. “At once, sir. Please, follow me.”

As Adrian and Bella left the common room, he drew a sigh of relief. Apparently, no one had recognized him. Bella guided him to the most secluded room, keeping silent until she opened the door. Only then, she turned towards him, smiling warmly. 

“Now, that is a surprise. I’d never expected you to come back to Denerim after the Landsmeet.” Her smile faltered a little. “I wasn’t there, of course, but I heard—“

Adrian interrupted her. “Thank you, Bella. I know you’re sorry, unlike certain vultures. Let’s just not mention Alistair, please.”

A glimpse of remorse flashed on her face. “As you wish,” she agreed. Now uncomfortable, perhaps embarrassed, she stood in the doorway. “Well, if you need anything, I’ll be in the common room.”

“There is something. Something I need to ask you,” he replied, casting a look behind her. “It won’t take more than a few moments, but I need you to close the door.”

“A few moment of my time in exchange for everything you did for me back in Redcliffe? Sounds like a good bargain,” she joked. 

Adrian looked at Bella. Could he really trust her? Was she still the kind-hearted girl he had met in Redcliffe, or had Denerim changed her to the core? He shook his head. Even though he didn’t feel like trusting her completely, she was his best bet. He crossed his arms on his chest and exhaled. 

“Now that you run an inn, you probably meet all sort of people,” he started. When Bella merely nodded, he continued. “You may remember Morrigan, the dark-haired woman traveling with me. She… barely entered Lloyd’s inn once, though. Do you… have any idea who I’m talking about?”

Bella frowned, taking her time to think. Finally, she spoke. “Sort of. Raven hair, beautiful, tall, mostly silent, venomous tongue. This Morrigan is not one you don’t notice. Especially considering how she kept looking at me with disdain.” There was a thin amusement in her voice. “What of her?”

There it was. The moment of truth. He could either merely ask Bella whether she had seen Morrigan or not, or mention the presence of the babies too. Surely, amidst the sea of people the innkeeper met every day, a single mother was easier to remember. 

“Have you seen her in Denerim recently? She should be traveling with two babies. Two infants,” he finally spat out. It took him a certain struggle to not look away in what could easily be perceived as shame. 

“A beautiful woman with raven hair, two babies crying at her chest, a certain… temper,” Bella recalled. “I can’t guarantee the woman I saw is Morrigan, though. I met her outside the inn, desperate to find a way to make one of the children stop crying.” She paused, a bit uncertain. “The woman I met was not alone, though. You didn’t mention any escort, so…” 

Adrian’s heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t help but startle. The merchant had told him about the Dalish woman already—but why was Bella so reluctant to talk? What if there was _someone else_ with Morrigan, while in Denerim? “She wasn’t alone?” he asked. 

“There was someone with her. A… Dalish elf, dark-haired as well. At least,” she pointed at his face, “she had tattoos like yours on her face. They are Dalish, aren’t they?”

No man with Morrigan, then. He savored the relief, then nodded. “They are. This is weird, though.” His voice lowered to a murmur. “Why would…” He silenced his thoughts. For now. “You said she was a guest at this inn. When did she arrive, and when did she leave? Do you have any idea where she was heading to?”

“She arrived four days ago and left two days ago, Warden. As for what her destination was, I’m afraid I can’t help. That woman really spoke to me only twice. The first time, she asked for a room. The second, she required the bill.”

Adrian briefly processed that information. Assuming that the woman seen by Bella was Morrigan, she was in a hurry—or alternatively, Denerim held no interest for her, after all. 

“Thank you, Bella,” he concluded.

**_§§§_ **

Ex-post, Denerim had been a loss of time. Adrian had remained in the city for two days, looking around for clues, to no avail. Bella’s information had sounded like a good start, but it had turned out to be only a dead end. All Adrian was fairly certain of was that Morrigan hadn’t gone to Highever. Did that mean she and her elven companion had taken the West Road, towards Lothering? And yet, again, what could she look for in Lothering? Still, coming to know she had stopped in Denerim had been a surprise, too.

“Damn it!” Adrian cried. 

He cursed the capital, now behind him, and Drakon River, flowing in front of him. Once again, Morrigan was a mystery to him. Just like she had kept her true motivations hidden from him during the Blight, she was hiding the pattern behind her actions once again. But then again, had anything, ever, been easy with her?

A rustle in the bushes interrupted his thoughts, waking his hunter’s sense up. A hare, perhaps scared by his angry remark, would have jumped out of sight in a heartbeat, producing a series of rustles. A bear would have been much noisier. That rustle had sounded soft, almost careful—as if someone was guilty of a misstep and was trying to hide his, or her, presence.  
Without a single glimpse of hesitation, Adrian nocked an arrow and shot it at the nearest trunk. A jolt rewarded him.  
Nocking another arrow, he stared at the vegetation in front of him. Dhar growled, ready to fight, if needed. 

“Whoever you are, show yourself. Even if I missed you with my arrow, you’d have no chance to outrun the Mabari.”

After a few seconds, a pair of hands emerged from the bushes, slowly followed by a female Dalish face. The elf, dressed like a hunter would be, pleaded, “I’m not going anywhere. And I can explain. Just call off your dog. Please.”

* * *

As the night descended upon them, Adrian listened to the hunter’s tale. Her name was Ariane, and she was searching for Morrigan too because she, apparently, had stolen the relic of her clan, the Ladahlen clan. A book about Eluvians. 

Adrian stared at the fire where their dinner, a rabbit, was slowly getting cooked. Unfortunately, he had found none of the spices Leliana had taught him to use. Glancing at Ariane, he frowned. Her hair was auburn, not dark. And her story didn’t feel made up. For a moment, he had hoped to have found Morrigan’s traveling companion. Still…

“Eluvians, you said,” Adrian whispered. He remembered his only encounter with an Eluvian, the moment when Tamlen had been tainted. His darkened face and the growling deep in his throat when he had returned, hungry for the flesh of his old friend. The moment he had had to pierce Tamlen’s heart with his daggers. The hole he had dug to bury him. What in the Void could Morrigan want with an Eluvian?

“I did. Keeper Solan revealed me the subject of the book, in hope that this knowledge could help me retrieve it.” Ariane sounded almost resentful. “You are the Hero of Ferelden and all, but you weren’t supposed to be informed about any of it.”

“You should have done a better job of following me, then. You are an amateur,” Adrian snapped.  
His accusation was met with silence. Adrian realized too late that, in insulting her skills, he had questioned her Keeper’s choice in sending her after the relic. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore, I suppose. What matters is that the book has to return to your clan, and I’m ready to offer you my help.”  
Still sitting, Ariane shifted a bit, as if she was uncomfortable. “I don’t know you, but I know you fought to grant more land to our people. So, in regard to my clan’s well-being, I feel I can trust you. Your help is welcome, Hero…”

“Adrian,” he corrected her. 

“… considering the fact that you know this Witch of the Wilds better than I do. Know this, though—I may not be the most perfect hunter, but I’m not an idiot. I know you were following her way before meeting me. I heard you talking to the innkeeper in Denerim. I have no desire to know why you are seeking her, but be mindful, I can see there’s more than the relic to you.”  
Adrian kept silent. Ariane was right, but there was no point in confirming it. Plus, he wasn’t even sure which reasons were truly prompting him to go after Morrigan. The idea of her holding his sons was one reason, but maybe there was even more than that to him. He silently thanked Ariane for not asking him why he was actually following the infamous Witch of the Wilds. He wouldn’t have a proper answer for her. 

“We’re going to the Korcari Wilds. They’re her home, and she may hope to find something… of use in her hut.”

“I’ve been there already. There’s nothing left but the ruins of an old house,” the female Dalish informed him.

“Have you checked everything? Was there any sign of passage around the hut?”

“None. If she truly means to go back home, she hasn’t yet.”

Eluvians, Adrian thought once again. He reminded how once Morrigan had explained to him how, in order to shapeshift into an animal, she had to come to understand its behavior. Its being. So, maybe, if she was interested in Eluvians, she needed a specimen to study. And he knew exactly where to find one. 

“Our destination is the Brecilian Forest. If her goal is an Eluvian, she knows where to find one. And I do too.”

**_§§§_ **

After a week-long journey, Adrian was more frustrated than ever. Even if Morrigan had stopped at the Ruin to retrieve a fragment of Eluvian, there was no clue to where she might have headed next. And the trip to the Korcari Wilds, where he and Ariane had headed despite her previous inspection, had proved unsuccessful.  
It had served only to have him think back to that first meeting, how he had admired her grace and her secure stance since the first time he had laid eyes on her. Adrian was growing increasingly angrier. Why, if those babies were his, she had not sought his help? Why had she gone only the Evanuris knew where, after a blasted Eluvian? The Eluvians were passages to other realms. Where was she trying to escape, and why? From time to time, Adrian thought about Leliana. Perhaps she had finally returned to him, only to find him gone. Little did she know he was, once again, chasing the woman who had lied to him for months and broken his heart, the woman he could be sharing a life with instead of her. Was Morrigan dragging him around once again, this time around the whole bloody Ferelden? Was she toying with him like she had years ago? Deep inside, he knew she was not to blame. He had started that journey by his own volition.

“Ehi. We need to talk.”

He turned to find Ariane staring at him with an exasperated look, the reins in her hands. 

“Look, first thing we need to ride out of the Wilds, I know. But sooner or later we’ll have to face the fact that the Witch has an accomplice in her theft. And none other than one of our people. Any idea of who this accomplice may be?”

Adrian shrugged. “None, I’m afraid. The only Dalish elf detached from her clan I know of is Velanna, and she certainly has no part in this matter. She’s a Warden, and she was still at Amaranthine when I left. What about someone from your clan? How has Morrigan managed to snatch the book away?”  
Ariane shot him a shocked look, narrowing her eyes. Then, she relaxed her posture. “She shapeshifted. She entered the Keeper’s hut in the form of a crow. Dirthamen’s form. I believe she did it on purpose, to not be shooed away. After she got the tome, we chased her, obviously. We only recognized her as the Witch of the Wilds because at some point she reverted to her human form. Sadly, she had already reached the border of Amaranthine and we could not follow.”

The fact that Morrigan had cheated the Dalish using their own religion was no surprise to Adrian. And he also knew he was responsible for having passed that knowledge on to her. All he offered Ariane was silence. 

“There’s a traitor amongst us, Adrian. That’s the bad news. Look at the good side, though—if one of us is traveling with her, we may be able to predict some of their moves. The use of certain routes, for example, or the markers we, as Dalish, are accustomed to.”

“We’ve still got a big problem,” he whispered. “They are after something magical, and none of us is a mage. We need help from someone who can wield magic.”

“You aren’t suggesting…”

“The Circle. Morrigan’s magic is neither Elvish or human, nor is it the same as the one taught in the Circles, but there is certainly something we can make use of in the library.”

“And you suppose they will let us in.”

“One of the few perks of being the Hero of Ferelden.”

That last statement came out quite bitter. As much as his status of national Hero was about to be useful, Adrian couldn’t help but desire to be merely Adrian Mahariel, a Dalish elf.  
Thankfully, once again Ariane was tactful enough to not ask anything.

**_§§§_ **

The Wardens had stripped him from his elven blood, tainting it and making it useless for the scrying ritual. Fighting in the Blight and traveling with every sort of person, not to mention becoming Warden-Commander of Amaranthine, had further distanced him from his people. Nonetheless, the shock and the hurt he felt upon learning about what had happened the refugees of Arlathan had mirrored in Ariane’s eyes. For a single moment, that pain had equated him to someone who was still a simple Dalish elf. Something he had felt thankful for, despite the death of those innocents.  
His ancestors, the refugees of Arlathan, had found safety amongst Cad'halash Thaigh’s dwarves, only to be wiped out along with the thaig’s residents for the sake of a commercial agreement with the Tevinter Empirium. If the Tevinter Empirium had come to know how the dwarves had helped the survivors of Arlathan, it may have refused to trade further with Kal-Sharok. So, the army of Kal-Sharok had slaughtered the whole Cad'halash Thaigh, both dwarves and elves, then delivered the Lights of Arlathan to the Archon.  
Some of those magical lights, thankfully, had been hidden well enough to not be found. And maybe, the surviving Lights of Arlathan had been waiting for ages for an elven hand to touch them and for a mission to fulfill. What better mission than retrieving an elven relic? The truth was that he owed to Morrigan the discovery of Cadash Thaig’s events and the recovering of the Lights of Arlathan. Without her, he would never have gone to the Circle Tower, or to Orzammar. In chasing her, he had found something of vital importance for the Dalish. It was even possible that it was meant for him to find Morrigan. That it was the right course of action.

“Are you all right?” Ariane softly asked him. 

He turned. All the grief was still written on her face, as well as on his. “I will, once we will bring our tome back where it belongs. Maybe the Lights of Arlathan were waiting for us, Ariane. And now, you will bring them back to the Dalish, too.”

“What will I tell my Keeper? What if the Dalish wanted to avenge Arlathan’s survivors? What if a new war against Orzammar erupts?” Ariane wondered, a lump in her throat. 

It was with a heavy heart that Adrian gave voice to his thoughts. “Then you don’t. We keep this secret, Ariane. Arlathan is dead and gone, and knowing what end its people met won’t be of any use. Except, maybe, start a new war. One no one needs.” 

“But—“

He shot a look at Finn, the Circle mage who had chosen to accompany them to the Deep Roads. He was standing, and keeping a respectful distance. He was a human, and yet he would be instrumental in bringing the tome, and the Lights, in elven hands. Where they belonged. 

“Come. Finn awaits.”

* * *

The moment the scrying water showed that barren landscape, Adrian recognized the place. The enchantment was showing them the Dragonbone Wastes—the same place where he had defeated the Mother and let the Architect fool him.  
It was time for him to confront everything. His past with Morrigan, the ghosts of Amaranthine’s battle, the anger he still felt due to the Architect’s betrayal, but above all, what his future could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Eluvian confrontation is really close now!  
> I'm as excited as, I hope, you are. 
> 
> As always, your thoughts are more than welcome :)


	20. To find you, only to lose you again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Eluvian in the Dragonbone Wastes is witness to quite the fateful meeting.   
> And it'll reveal an unexepected truth...

**_Dragon 32, Solace_ **

Her fingers closed around the crimson brightness of the Eluvian fragment, Morrigan stood. She shot a quick look at Merrill’s tattooed face—the elven mage’s eyes were closed, and her breath was steady. Steady as it was each time she slept. After almost a month-long journey, Morrigan not only knew when the elf was sleeping soundly, she was also sure that the sound of a blanket on a rock wasn’t enough to wake her up. The Dalish, she had found out testing her hearing during sleep, slept like a log. Only a truly menacing sound could get her attention. 

Thus, Merrill would be aware of her absence only the next morning, when it would be too late for her to stop her. 

The Dalish tome produced a soft rustling, as Morrigan placed it into her bag. She didn’t mean to steal it—not necessarily. Not if the Eluvian would welcome her peacefully and without issues. However, just in case something unexpected happened, she’d need the book to sort the solution out. 

The fragment between her fingers, the tome in her bag, Morrigan’s gaze rested on the twins. Bound to her chest, they were sleeping peacefully. No wonder, since the Dragonbone Wastes were perhaps the quietest place she had ever come across in her travels. According to the stories, it was the place where dragons chose to die—and Morrigan was starting to believe those stories. Ever since she and Merrill had set foot in the area, they had never met a single living creature. Just centuries-old bones, rocks, canyon, and steep paths. 

Morrigan looked around, and for the first time those bright stars in the night sky and the breathtaking silence of the Wastes felt… threatening. Maybe the Wastes were not meant for the living. Maybe she was _trespassing_ , and would be punished.

Getting to the Eluvian was the only answer. She knew it. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to take the first step. 

Then, she heard the fragment’s whisper. She didn’t understand its words completely, what it transmitted her were mostly concepts. And the message, this, time, was loud and clear. 

_Hurry. Walk away. Leave._

The Eluvian meant safety. Morrigan took the first step, then the second. She stepped out of the cave. She would bring Kieran and Valena to safety.

**_§§§_ **

Their steps were the only sound in the air. As Adrian led the group, holding the torch high, he listened to his companions’ pace—Ariane’s was steady, no surprise since she was a trained hunter, used to physical effort. Finn’s, on the other hand, was growing more and more hesitant, slower and slower. Preventing the Circle Mage from becoming more of a burden during their march, Adrian had ordered Ariane to take care of Finn. Adrian could not afford to slow down. He meant to reach the Eluvian before sunrise, and most importantly, before Morrigan. He would continue alone, if needed. For now, though, he was careful to remain near enough to Ariane and Finn for them to make use of the light he carried.

Still, the more they walked, the more the torch’s light created sinister, dancing shadows as it caressed the rocks delimiting the path. Shadows of dragons, Adrian thought from time to time. And when he did, Flemeth’s snake-like eyes haunted his mind. In that place, the place where dragons die, he wasn’t sure he had slain her anymore. Anywhere else, Adrian would have been more worried about an ambush—that path was, after all, the perfect setting. Pressing his lips together, he shook his head. Flemeth was dead. The Mother was dead too. Her body lay underground, maybe even beneath his feet, and she could not raise her army anymore. What mattered was the past, and he would not be slowed down by ghosts. The Architect, though… he was no ghost. What if the eyes he felt on him were his?

Despite his resolve, Ariane’s hand on his arm almost made him jump. He shot her a furious look, which she answered with an apologetic gesture.

“Finn can’t keep up much longer, Adrian.” She pointed at the human, who was resting, his back on a near rock. “And I bet you are tired, too. There are caves in this area. We shoul—“

“We should what? Take some sleep?” Adrian replied with an angry whisper. He moved the torch around. “Do you really want to camp somewhere in this cemetery, Ariane?”

“I—“ she began. Then she drew a deep breath. Her eyes briefly scanned the surroundings, her body tense. She was no more relaxed than he was. “We could keep watch while Finn sleeps. Just one hour. Not a minute more.”

“What if she leaves under my nose?” he retorted, without thinking. As he witnessed Arianne’s dazed expression, he realized he had said too much. He swallowed. “The tome would be lost,” he added in a whisper. 

Ariane opened her mouth to answer, but before she could say anything Finn grabbed them both by an arm and led them beside him, signaling them to keep quiet. He slid behind the rock, gesturing them to follow. 

Once all three were crouched down and hidden enough and the torch was shaded, Adrian glanced at Finn. The question in his look was clear. 

“There is someone inside the cave in front of us. I glimpsed a shadow when you moved the torch, and I saw a figure. An actual human-like figure.” Finn pointed at the cave’s entrance. “There!”

Adrian watched in silence as a silhouette appeared in front of them. A soft light came from inside the cave, lighting the person up just enough to distinguish its silhouette from the shadows. The figure took a few steps. She—because, now Adrian was sure, it was undeniably a she—was quite tall and slender. Her hair could only be black, or at least dark, because that soft light didn’t produce shiny golden strains in touching it. In her hands, a mage’s staff. He couldn’t see her face yet, as her back was now turned on them. Adrian’s heart throbbed faster. Maybe he had found Morrigan. Maybe—he realized he had no idea what to tell her, what to ask her. One doesn’t simply walk back in someone else’s life. Not after their rocky past. 

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the woman turned. 

Adrian found himself looking at a face he’d never thought he could see again. Merrill’s face. 

Ariane’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Look. Look. She’s a Dalish. She’s got the vallaslin on her face. She could be—“ 

Refusing to listen to whatever Ariane was telling him, Adrian swallowed the disappointment. And soon, that disappointment was replaced with relief. Merrill had been his best friend before he became a Warden. No doubt, she still was his friend. 

“Merrill?” Adrian called, breaking the silence. He put himself in full sight. 

Merrill started, and a globe of fire appeared in her trembling hands. As soon as she set her eyes on him, though, not only did her magic retreat back in her veins, her staff fell on the ground. “Wh—“ she began. Wide-eyed, she took another step towards him. “Mahariel?” she whispered. As she explored his facial features with her eyes, she relaxed. “Mahariel. It is really you,” she finally realized. 

Adrian focused on her, putting aside the thought of Morrigan, for once. “I am.” Merrill looked… older, but in many regards she seemed still the clumsy girl he had known. Nonetheless, there was something new in her eyes now. Something scared, something distrustful. An unwelcome thought flashed in his brain. A First never traveled alone. No Dalish elf was raised to travel alone, and as far as he knew his clan was miles away. “What are you doing here? Has something happened to the Sabrae clan?”

“What? No! No, I think—they are fine. Everything’s good.” She almost tripped over her staff just like she had faltered on her own words. 

“Adrian. Something’s off. Can’t you see?” Ariane quickly whispered in his ear. 

Unwilling to heed Ariane’s words, Adrian pushed her away. “Look, Merrill. Whatever’s troubling you, we can discuss this later. I promise, we will. Now I need to know something.” He took another step towards her. “I need you to tell me if you’ve seen a woman around here. Tall, haughty, dark-haired, possibly wielding magic and traveling with two babies.” He didn’t bother to suppress the urgency in his voice. “Please. It’s important. I don’t have much time.”

Merrill’s bag fell from her shoulder, and the Dalish mage’s face drained of color. “What did you just say?” Merrill shrieked. She seemed completely stunned. 

With a growl, Ariane stepped forward. “Fenedhis! I’m tired of this sham. Where is the witch?”

“Are you insane? She’s not involved in any of this! She’s the dedicated apprentice of Sabrae Clan’s Keeper. She’s probably gained her place as First already,” Adrian snarled. 

Merrill remained silent. She kept looking inside the cave, and around her, as if she expected someone to reappear by her side.

Adrian held his breath. Why wasn’t she answering? Why wasn’t she proving Ariane wrong?

“Look,” Merrill finally whispered. She looked directly in Adrian’s eyes. “I can explain. I will. Just, not now. I have to go, I have to get it back.”

All of a sudden, a chilling sound, a roar mixed with a ferocious shriek, echoed through the air. 

Adrian turned. It was coming from the direction where the Eluvian was. 

Merrill, Ariane, and Finn didn’t matter anymore. All he knew was that Morrigan was probably heading into danger, and there was no chance he wouldn’t protect her. He took off at full speed, immediately followed by Dhar.

**_§§§_ **

There, in the center of the round area delimited by rocks and archways in ruins, an area shaped much like an arena, was her prize. Now that Morrigan was in the presence of a full-powered, intact Eluvian, she wondered how she could ever have mistaken the broken mirror in Merrill’s room for a powerful artifact.  
This one was so much more. Its voice felt ancient and wise, and even though she didn’t understand every word she somehow knew the Eluvian was giving voice to its secret, to what it had seen when it sat in Arlathan.

And she was so close. All she had to do was cross the threshold. 

The Eluvian invited her once more. Hurry up, it said, as the heat of the fragment diminished. She had a chance, but it wouldn’t last long, she understood. 

Morrigan took one hesitant step, half-waiting for some last-minute trial. Drawing a deep breath, she got ready for the next step. She meant to walk slowly, to test the ground first, but this time the Eluvian’s voice was so, so much stronger. Before she could think, she had started running towards her prize. Her door to safety, her way out, the only road that could guarantee Kieran and Valena a future.   
It wasn’t until she had entered deep into the ancient arena that she heard the ticking. Alarmed, she turned around for the first time since she had set foot inside. The torch she was holding gave birth to an enormous shadow, a twisted thing resembling a giant spider, a creature with many arms and legs. 

Then, Morrigan saw it in the flesh. The creature nearing her was actually more similar to a mantis—except that its skin resembled gaunt wood. Instinctively, she held her babies closer and took a sideways glance at the Eluvian. Hoping to evade the creature, whatever it was, was pointless. Fighting it would put Kieran and Valena in danger. Jumping inside the Eluvian, and hoping it was actually open for her, was her only chance. 

The moment she went for a desperate run for the Arlathan artifact, the creature emitted a menacing sound, a roar mixed with a ferocious shriek. Before she could move further, she ran into a skeletal, wooden paw. As she looked up at the beast, she noticed the absence of eyes.

Everything in Morrigan’s head became chaos. Like prey, she walked backward, her children’s cries filling her ears. She would have to fight, after all. At least, this way they all had a thin chance instead of the certainty of death waiting for them. 

As she got ready to unleash her magic, the night grew darker. A gigantic shadow covered the stars, and the figure of a high dragon soared in the sky above her and started to circle the arena in what was clearly a landing. The wood-like creature apparently forgot about her completely and screamed its challenge to the dragon.

Morrigan ran to the arena’s entrance, keeping her eyes on the two creatures. Even though her heart was beating so rapidly that she could not think, her guts knew. She had seen that specific dragon already.   
Defeated, she fell on her knees. She had come all this way only to fall right into Mother’s clutches. Fighting to hold back the tears, she held her children to her breasts, caressing them with shaky hands in an unfruitful attempt to calm their cries. Mother had found her. Running was no use. Mother would defeat the creature, then she would move on to her. Mother would feed on her, and take away Kieran and Valena. 

The dragon shone like a midnight sun, and in its place, Flemeth appeared. She held a slender hand forward, spelling a few, curt words as she looked the creature right in the eyes. In a moment’s time, the wooden monster bowed its head and remained still. 

Morrigan stared at Mother, completely amazed and utterly terrified—everything about her screamed power. Her fiery stance, the tiara adorning her forehead, the tight leather tunic clinging to her body, the mere gesture of her hand. She had never doubted Mother’s powers, but taming such a creature was beyond any imagination. How could that be possible? What lay under Flemeth’s features? And what was that creature exactly?

“You cower at the sight of me, dear girl? At long last your eyes flash with a distrust I have witnessed in the stares of the wisest men, but... do you understand why it shows itself now?” Flemeth began in an almost pleasant tone, turning towards her. “You owe me your and the little ones’ life. ” 

Morrigan gritted her teeth. She had made a great show of how she, the Witch of the Wilds, was nothing compared to a being like her. And unlike her, Kieran and Valena were actually staring at Flemeth in wonder.

Flemeth shot a brief smile at the babies. “Do not confuse yourself, daughter. You have a functioning brain, and you know when to use it, and against whom, though for all your persistence it troubles me to admit... it is your children that know better than you.”

“Fine!” Morrigan snapped, standing on her feet. “Do what you have to. I lost, but I won’t give up without a fight. Even in failing, I’ll die knowing I protected them the best I could.”

For a single second, there was tenderness in Flemeth’s eyes. “I suppose you wouldn’t believe me if I told you I said almost the same words about you, once.”

She knew better than letting Mother manipulate her, but despite that she couldn’t help but blink in surprise. Was there really a _human_ side in her, one she refused to even consider? 

“Morrigan!”

Morrigan didn’t need to turn to know who had just called her name. Once, she had relished his name on her lips like some peculiar, yet strangely delicious, beverage; a bit later she had cursed his name while another man was thrusting inside her. Many times, during that last year, his face had resurfaced in his mind, and only recently she had found reason to not hate him. Still, she refused to lock eyes with him. 

“Ah, here comes the Hero of Ferelden, Warden-Commander of Amaranthine. A knight in shining armour or a glorious hero, to some. Perhaps the foolish. What would you prefer in these times?” She smiled once again. “Congratulations, for finding what you were searching for…” Flemeth stated, gesturing at Morrigan, “or not. Is it what you long for?" 

Silently, Morrigan thanked Mother for doing the talking instead of her. And in truth, she wanted to witness Adrian’s reaction. She wanted to know whether he knew, or not, that Mother was still alive after all. So, she turned. All over Adrian’s face was painted a deep disbelief and a complete bewilderment. There was no denying it—even the most perfect actor could not feign such a deep amazement. At least about slaying Mother, he’d been sincere.

“What say you, girl? Do you wish for me to… facilitate your escape? Say the word, and my pet,” Flemeth gestured at the monstrous creature beside her, “will take care of him. You won’t have to worry about your Warden anymore.”

Adrian widened his eyes in shock, while Dhar growled, ready to defend his master. Even if the defeat was guaranteed. Adrian merely stared at Morrigan, a silent plea on his face. 

Looking away, Morrigan remained silent for several seconds. She didn’t wish the Warden’s death, not anymore. And certainly, she wasn’t going to fall into debt with Mother again. Most of all, she was disoriented by her behavior. Wasn’t she planning to steal her children? Why would she offer her help to her escape?

“I don’t understand,” Morrigan admitted in a whisper. “Aren’t you here for the children? Why are you letting me go?”

Adrian interjected. “What? Does she want the babies? I won’t let her—“

Flemeth smirked in amusement, then looked at her and Adrian as if they were children, unable to understand the simple truths of life. “If I wanted the children for myself, Warden, you’d have no way to stop me,” she stated. “As for you, girl, know this. The time has yet to come, and I can grant you, there’s so much you’re unaware of. Find the answer to those questions you spelled a year ago, and maybe you’ll get closer to the truth.” She started walking towards the arena’s exit, the creature at her side. 

Morrigan watched as Adrian moved away to let Flemeth pass, his daggers still drawn. Turning her back on him, she began walking towards the Eluvian. Staying would mean dealing with a conversation she was not ready for, and maybe losing her chance to walk through the mirror.

“Morrigan, please. Wait.”

**_§§§_ **

Morrigan simply couldn't afford it. She had to take the chance she’d been offered, walk away and step through the Eluvian. There, she had a chance to be safe. That way, her children had the chance of a future. Adrian had done nothing to earn his place by her side, or at least not enough. And honestly, she didn’t know what to make of him. Not yet, maybe never. But deep inside, she was aware that her urgency was her excuse to avoid a confrontation she wasn’t ready for. A convincing one, but still an excuse. So, she clad herself in an armor of disdain and dry words. Still offering him her back, she said, “Why should I? What’s left to—“ She cursed between her teeth. Asking him questions, even rhetorical ones, would only lead to further dialogue. “There’s nothing left to talk about.” She resumed her pace. Not long after a few steps, she heard padding by her side. Dhar was whining, his canine eyes pointing upwards. At her. Sighing, she stopped and petted Dhar on the head. Nostalgia bit at her—that mabari, even when it had been responsible for some mischievous trick, had always been able to steal a smile from her.

It was Morrigan, and yet it was a completely different woman. The Witch of the Wilds Adrian had met wasn’t afraid of anything, and yet the woman in front of him looked both dazed and terrified by her mother. Even when she had asked him to slay her mother, Morrigan had kept calm and controlled, as if she had the situation in hand despite the danger. And the way she was holding her sons… He’d never seen her act so protectively about anyone but herself. Who was this stranger who looked so much like the woman he had loved so deeply? There was still a glimpse of her, Adrian noticed as she had gazed at him. Even when Flemeth—how could she be alive, and commanding a Varterral, no less?—had threatened the children, his thoughts had remained focused on Morrigan, on the pain she would certainly suffer were the children taken away from her. Only for a short moment, Flemeth’s mighty figure had reclaimed his attention. Morrigan’s harsh response somehow reassured Adrian. The Witch of Wilds was not gone for good. As she was petting Dhar, he took a few, cautious steps towards her. 

“There is,” Adrian replied. He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether emotionalism was the way to handle her. The last time he’d tried to share his feelings, she’d run away from him. Still, what other choice did he have? “You deserve an apology.”

A glimpse of surprise flashed on Morrigan’s face, and she was even more grateful she wasn’t facing him. Was that the same man she’d left in Denerim? As weird as it could seem, it was the first time the two of them talked about their relationship like two adults, confronting feelings instead of enjoying burning passion. At least he seemed ready to do as much. Her head almost spinning, Morrigan wondered whether she was ready too, or not. 

“I thought I was the villain of the story to you. The cruel sorceress who—“. _Who broke your heart_ , she was about to whisper. Luckily, she’d managed to stop in time. 

There was an uncertainty, a softer side of her he had only barely seen once, during their last, fateful conversation. Unsure about how to deal with Morrigan, Adrian reached a hand close enough that he could almost touch her shoulder. At the last minute, he retreated. She was fragile in a way he didn’t understand. And who knew if he’d be given time to. Even Dhar seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, as he curled up several steps away from both of them.

“None of us is a villain, Morrigan. We both made mistakes, and while I’m familiar with mine, I don’t know why you chose to keep your purpose hidden from me. Maybe…” he hesitated, “one day you’ll help me understand why. In the meantime, I want you to know… although I acted like I knew everything about love, I was as in the dark as you. I… have not been completely honest with you. I have been selfish.” Adrian knew he was taking a risk, that each step could bring him closer to her stepping through the Eluvian without offering him any answer. He hoped he was taking the right steps. Perhaps, one day, she’d offer him the answer to all his questions.

Morrigan held her breath. Panic and curiosity mixed in her mind. Was he about to confess to her his dalliance with the bard? And what was he asking of her? Did he hope for some kind of reunion? The wildest instincts urged her to leave. Her newfound awareness, though, prevented her from doing so. She turned, looking him in the eyes.   
Adrian almost sighed in relief when she didn’t run, and the moment she turned he found out he had, after all, missed those amber eyes. He was close, so close to getting what he wanted. “First we were lovers, then I resented you, Morrigan. I was wounded, but nonetheless, I was wrong. Please, give me a chance to fix the mess I made. I owe you as much. You can always come back to the Eluvian, then, if you’re not satisfied.”

It was not enough. None of that was enough. He hadn’t mentioned Leliana, neither was he talking about starting over as a couple. What exactly was he proposing to her? She couldn’t afford to take such risks, not with Kieran and Valena in her arms. 

“Is there no sighing woman waiting for the mighty Hero of Ferelden’s return? Really?” Morrigan asked, not bothering to hide the skepticism in her voice. “Also, as a matter of fact, this portal will remain opened   
only for a short time.”

Taken aback by that question, Adrian kept silent for a few seconds. Confessing to her everything just now was out of the question, it could only serve to push her away. If only there was an easy way to… Adrian focused on the infants in her arms. Maybe, they were the right key. “Morrigan…” he looked the babies, who cooed in Morrigan’s arms in return, “they’re mine, aren’t they? There was no man with you at Amaranthine’s docks. Please agree, for their sake. Their well-being is far more important than our past. And I’m sure we can work our issues out.” He took another shy step in Morrigan’s direction and extended his hand. Once he had managed to win her over, he could worry about the tome and about explaining to her what awaited her by his side. Not a second earlier. 

Her hope shattered in a million tiny splinters. Adrian wanted her to abandon her plans, to exchange a safe haven for… what kind of life, exactly? One where she was an unwelcome guest, someone Leliana considered a menace for her relationship? Surely, he wasn’t aware she knew about him and the bard, and he wasn’t going to inform her. He was asking her to make the most important decision of her life sight unseen. Part of her wished to shout in his face that he could not fool her, that she was aware of what the real deal was. That would hurt. Suddenly, Morrigan realized what the best way to handle his deception was. 

“You are not their father,” Morrigan said, coldly. 

Just when Adrian thought she was going to take his hand and leave with him, something appeared on her face. Disappointment. Then shortly later, anger. Confused, he took a step back. He’d opened his heart to her—was she going to shut him out again, like she had one year ago? The five words she offered as answer felt like daggers piercing his skin. He looked into her eyes, seeking for a trace of indecisiveness, some sign of a lie. Was it one of her cruel jokes? Sadly, all he read was detachment and determination. He had no reason to believe she wasn’t telling the truth, as much as he wished to. As horrifying as it was, Morrigan had betrayed him some time along the way and slipped into someone else’s bed. The rational part of him knew he couldn’t really fault her, nor was he sure it hadn’t happened after their break-up—still, the jealousy creeping in his veins was unstoppable. 

“Wh—“ Adrian whispered, his voice broken. “When?”

Behind Adrian, Morrigan noticed three figures nearing them. Amongst them, she recognized Merrill—the Dalish mage was looking at her with bitterness in her eyes. It wasn’t just her who marched in their direction, however. It was a female Dalish hunter too, and a Circle mage. 

“Just give us back the tome, witch. For all I care, you can—“ the hunter started, stopping in her tracks when Adrian, shooting Morrigan one last angry, disillusioned look, began walking away. 

“Hand us the book, Morrigan. It’s the least you can do, after all,” Adrian intervened without looking at her. He simply couldn’t take any more of Morrigan’s tricks, of her deception, of her secrets. 

Merrill kept staring at her accusingly, without saying a single word. 

Morrigan eyed them all—the Dalish Hunter, Adrian, Merrill, and the Circle mage by their side. They really wanted the book, and they could force her to deliver it if they wanted to. 

“I never meant to take it beyond the Eluvian. I merely brought it with me to in case I needed some additional hint to open the portal, “ Morrigan said, laying the tome on the ground.

No one spoke, no one tried to stop her. The Dalish hunter hurried up and retrieved the book.

As she walked towards the Eluvian, her back to Adrian, she felt something weird in her heart. Something a lot like sorrow. She had driven him away perhaps forever, and even if it was the right choice for her, Valena, and Kieran, there was still a dissonant note. Something wasn’t right. 

It didn’t matter anymore. She had made her choice. Closing her eyes, she dived into the Eluvian’s surface. Wherever it would take them, it was still better than the Wastes.

* * *

Under her feet, solid rock. Wherever she was, it had to be the inside of a building, or at least a courtyard. As Morrigan opened her eyes, a dizzy spell assaulted her and Kieran started crying, as if in discomfort.   
Cradling her son, she whispered a lullaby into his ears, desperately trying to ignore the mild malaise that was plaguing her too. 

The place she had ended up in was the strangest she had ever come upon—everything around her was a gray, clouded in mist area, where the trees’ branches were distorted and round. Behind her, was the Eluvian she had stepped into. In front of her, a thousand other mirrors were displayed. Many were cracked or darkened, a few looked simply… mute, inactive. 

“It’s like an Eluvian crossroads,” Morrigan whispered, as she realized she had somehow found the place where all Eluvians were connected she had read about.

She cast a worried look at Valena. Her baby girl was sleeping quietly, as if she was, unlike her mother and her twin, completely comfortable. When she finally opened her clear eyes, she emitted an annoyed moan. Nothing more, no cries, no groans. 

Frowning, Morrigan wondered what made her daughter react differently. And when Valena held out a tiny hand, touched a trunk and donated it its natural brown color for a single, shining moment, Morrigan remembered something she had read in the tome.

_Somewhere, in a place nowadays unknown, the eluvians are connected to one another via pathways in another realm, separate from the Fade. It is passed on that this realm, largely colorless but for a brightly-lit stone path, was created by the elves of Arlathan and thus is inimical to humans, who experience disorientation and physical discomfort that elves don't. According to many Keepers, the gray strange world between the eluvians seems to "like" elves, responding and filling with color at their touch._

Wide-eyed, the Witch of the Wilds stared at her daughter.

It wasn’t possible. For Valena to have elven blood, she had to be daughter to someone else than Loghain. An elf. And the only elf she had shared her bed with, only few days before their last fight, was Adrian.   
Still, it wasn’t possible. Valena and Kieran were twins. Twins couldn’t—

Or could they? Had Flemeth not told her once the story of a Chasind woman whose twins’ father was not certain, and how the Witch of the Wilds Yavana had decreed how both men were to be considered fathers?

Was there another, plausible explanation for Valena’s peculiarity?

As much as Morrigan struggled, none came to her mind.

She had just lied to Adrian, without even being aware of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there :)
> 
> I hope Adrian-Morrigan reunion was satisfactory... And the final twist, about Valena's origin, was surprising enough!   
> I know it's quite the rare occurence, but as far as I know sometimes two twins can have two different fathers :)


	21. We're just playing our roles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And one day, Adrian comes back to Amaranthine. In Leliana's arms.
> 
> But to her, something is wrong, to the very core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Dear readers,_  
>  this is where the second section of the story starts. The meeting at the Eluvian is my mind, a threshold, something that definitely introduces new elements of the story and gives new direction to the characters. 
> 
>  
> 
> _I hope you are all enjoying the reading! This is the first novel-length story I’ve written, and to think that I ideally plan to cover the whole game arc is… sometimes scary. So, any constructive criticism is more than welcome._
> 
>  
> 
> _Last but not least, I want to thank my awesome beta, mille libri, for her invaluable assistance!_

**_Dragon 32, August_**

Leliana sighed in frustration. Sadly, the confused crowd in front of her was as superstitious as it was pious. Those men and women were the most active members of Amaranthine’s Chantry, but didn’t seem to grasp the difference between a play and reality. As if the Maker didn’t have more important concerns than a religious play.  
“Look, you’re only playing the Betrayer. You are not actually becoming the Betrayer,” Leliana explained , for the third time, to the tall, well-built man chosen to play Maferath. “And you,” she gestured at the group of four adults who were supposed to play Archon Hessarian, his wife Vasilia, and two supporting Magisters, “are not really Tevinter Magisters.” She added, with a thin veil of annoyance in her voice, “You don’t even have magic running in your blood. You can rest safely.”  
“B-but, they say there are spirits in the Fade. Maybe the Betrayer’s spirit roams and waits for a soul willing to host him. What if I call for its attention?” Maferath’s actor lamented.  
“And what if we,” the woman playing Vasilia inquired, pointing at herself and her companions, “by pretending that we have magic, end up summoning a demon? Or worse, develop a dormant magical talent?”  
Frowning, Leliana took a deep breath and silently counted to ten. An outburst would not help. “Alright. If you experience any kind of weird feelings during the rehearsals, you can tell me. Or the Sisters of the Chantry. Does this work for you?”  
Leliana surveyed the crowd. The majority of actors seemed still doubtful, with the exception of the ones chosen for Shartan and Andraste’s roles. Despite being an elf, Shartan was one of the “good guys”, and the fact that the Hero of Ferelden and Warden Commander was an actual elf was certainly of help in preventing the chosen boy from being ashamed. In response to her words, the actress who would perform Andraste smiled peacefully. She didn’t say a word, but after all, she didn’t need to—she was completely comfortable with her role. To that girl, Andraste was a pious, gentle soul who had taken arms only to end Tevinter’s great evil. When Leliana had begun the auditions for the sacred All Soul’s Day play of Amaranthine, every single girl of the city had asked to audition for the role of Andraste. And not a single one of them, not even the chosen candidate, had proved to have the slightest idea about who Andraste truly was: a fierce warrior, willing to kill her enemies to free the world from the Magister’s clutches.  
_Friggin’ idiots_ , Leliana thought, with a bitterness that didn’t belong her. Or so she had been sure of, until recently. For a moment, she felt guilty—could she really presume to teach the precepts of faith, when she was only a Lay Sister? A Lay Sister, yes, but one who had spent a significant amount of time by Dorothea’s side and had read a considerable amount of sacred tomes and essays.  
_And you… Why do you say the Maker spoke to you, when all know that the Maker has left? He spoke only to Andraste. Do you believe yourself her equal?_ _In Orlais, you were someone. In Lothering, you feared you would lose yourself, become a drab sister, and disappear. When your brothers and sisters at the cloister criticized you for what you professed, you were hurt, but you also reveled in it. It made you special. You enjoyed the attention, even if it was negative._

The Sacred Ashes’ Temple Guardian‘s words came to her mind. Was she being proud in assuming she could teach someone, anyone, who Andraste really was about? Had she been proud in interpreting her vision as words of the Maker meant for her? 

“Lady Mahariel?” Maferath’s actor called. “Can you—“

“I’m not the Commander’s wife,” Leliana snapped. “Don’t call me that.” She knew all too well how, to people, she was Adrian’s wife all but in name. She’d been by his side for over a year now, after all. Still, she couldn’t bear being addressed as ‘Lady Mahariel’—especially since she had found herself wondering if, and when, she could wear that title legally. 

“What is going on here?”

The peasant’s and Leliana’s head turned. Adrian was standing in front of them, a stern expression on his face. The same stern expression he’d worn since his he had gotten back from his mysterious trip. Leliana lingered on the lines on his face. Amaranthine misjudged them for the self-confidence of a Lord, but she didn’t. She knew him enough to be sure that something was off, something she couldn’t quite catch. He did his best to hide whatever torment was gripping him, she had to give him that—he was flawlessly gentle and passionate with her. Yet, in his gestures there was something… mechanic, almost self-imposed. 

“My Lord, we were just—“ Maferath’s actor began answering. 

Adrian interjected before the man could finish speaking. “Whatever it is, don’t annoy Lady Leliana. Amaranthine people wish to celebrate All Soul’s Day, and I allowed it. Lady Leliana is working tirelessly to do justice to Andraste, so, I am asking you to make her work easier. Not harder. Are we understood?” His tone strict, he stared at the man. 

The man bowed his head, as did the other actors. Keeping silent, Leliana glanced at him. Flawlessly thoughtful, Adrian was now self-assured in a completely new way, too. How long since he had asked for her opinion before taking a decision?

Was this new Adrian someone she truly knew? Certainly, Amaranthine had appeared to gain a reliable leader... Maybe a juicy target for lesser Lords and Bhelen’s supporters. She barely suppressed a shiver.

* * *

After Adrian’s rebuke, Leliana’s day had gone truly smoothly. The peasants chosen for the sacred performance had behaved exceptionally well, to the point that the rehearsals were now ahead of schedule. 

She entered the area of the Keep inhabited by herself and Adrian. By that time of the evening he was usually holed up in his study, busy working on treaties and pacts—regardless of whether peace reigned or not, a Lord’s duty had no end. Upon seeing shadows dance under the door, Leliana hesitated. Apparently, this one was not a usual evening. For the thousandth time, Leliana wondered what had changed him, and once again she was unable to offer herself an answer. Whatever had happened during that secret mission, though, it had changed him from the inside. She still remembered the night of his return, as clear as day.

_“I don’t like when people eat alone. It happened to me way too many times after the death of my father, and each time I see one of the recruits… or you, in this case, those bad memories resurface.”_  
_Leliana raised her eyes from her mutton steak, meeting Nathaniel Howe’s eyes. For several moments she stared at him, blankly and without saying a word. Adrian was who knew where, and in choosing to not grill Oghren she had renounced any chance to come to know the truth before talking to Adrian himself. She’d have to give voice to her questions, sooner or later—it was unlikely the Queen was willing to forget the whole matter. However, she would ask Adrian himself_.  
_Nathaniel cleared his throat. “Would you mind if I joined you? You look… distressed.”_  
_Leliana took a deep breath. “Do as you please, Warden-Constable Howe. It’s all the same for me.”_  
_She watched him for just a moment as he carefully sat in front of her, before focusing on her untouched mutton once again. Perhaps she should have insisted, asked Oghren more. She had always assumed that Adrian would be back and she could ask himself about his trip, but what if he was dying somewhere instead?_  
_“Leliana, I’ve swum in the sea of my thoughts long enough to know that if you never stop to rest, you’ll drown. And if you do, once he’ll be back in Amaranthine you’ll be more concerned about enjoying the good news than standing by his side… as he may need you to.”_  
_She locked eyes with Nathaniel, and despite her anxiety she couldn’t help reading his expression. There was worry on his face. Maybe he was lying. Maybe there was something he was hiding._

_The sound of hurried steps drew Leliana’s attention. A young boy, one of the Warden Recruits, broke into the room. As the boy located Nathaniel, he rushed towards him._

_“The Commander is back, Warden-Constable!”_

_Leliana forgot about everything. The dinner, the mutton on her plate, the annoyance Nathaniel’s words had caused her.  
“I’m coming with you,” she stated_.

Leliana shook her head, closing the window on that memory. She didn’t want to think back to what she had seen on Adrian’s face that night, nor to the few words they had exchanged. She didn’t want to, but Maker help her, she had to steal his secret somehow. She had no other choice, as the Queen would not accept a missing report . And considering how long she had procrastinated, she may as well do it this very night. 

Even knowing it was inevitable, somehow the mere idea was insufferable. They were sharing a life, and instead of letting those events go as he had asked her to the only time she had truly inquired, she would open what was obviously still a fresh wound. 

The door opened before Leliana. Adrian now stood in front of her, a glimpse of surprise on his face. He had removed his leather armor and chosen to wear more comfortable clothes for that evening, unlike he was used to when he worked until late at night. Furthermore, he had obviously taken a bath a short while ago—his chestnut hair was still half-damp and he smelled of soap.

“I was about to come searching for you,” Adrian said, a soft smile on his lips. 

As he leaned closer to plant a soft, quick kiss on her cheek, Leliana nodded and strove to offer him a smile. A few words of convenience, a striving smile just like hers. Was there really a point in sharing a life, if all they did was _striving_?

Behind him, the table was set for two. 

 

“What’s that for?” she inquired, when she walked into the room. 

Adrian’s brow furrowed. He looked confused. “Must there be something going on, for me to offer you a proper dinner?”

Shit. That was not how a lover would have talked. Cursing herself for that slip, Leliana desperately searched for a good excuse.  
“I mean… is there any special occasion I’m not aware of? Or, even worse, something I forgot?” She caressed his arm with the tip of her finger. 

Adrian’s expression slowly relaxed. He drew a deep breath. “A fair question,” he agreed, closing the door behind him. “I noticed how the actors chosen for the sacred representation were giving you trouble this morning, so I figured you’d like something to help you forget the long, bad day.” He remained silent for a moment, before asking, seriousness in this tone, “Did they bother you further, Leli?”

As Adrian’s hand caught hers, their fingers intertwining, she shook her head. “They didn’t. The rehearsal was, in fact, incredibly fruitful. And considering how superstitious some of them are, I’m surprised.”

Planting a kiss on her knuckles, he led her to the table set for the evening. The dinner awaiting her was nothing special in terms of choice of food, but each single course chosen was something she loved to eat—one plate was full of soup, another of grilled cheese, while a plate of cherries as dessert completed the meal. 

Leliana sat, glancing at Adrian. What if she was wrong? Was if his attentions were genuine? 

And if they were, how could she trick him into revealing to her something he clearly wished to put behind him?

Sadly, she had to. Trick him, or convince him, or subtly force him to talk, it didn’t matter as long as she obtained what she needed. She could only try to be as gentle as possible. 

“You look tired,” Leliana began.

Adrian’s response was a simple shrug. “I never thought being an Arl would be easy. That was why I didn’t want to be one in the first place. It is tiring, actually.” He immersed the spoon in his soup, flashing her a smile. “Just like old times. You were the one always cooking the soup, when we were encamped.”

Leliana smiled in response, this time genuinely, spontaneously. Old times, yes. When she still believed she could be free to pursue her freedom, to have her own family, maybe, after the Blight. Before her smile faded abruptly, she changed the subject. “I could help you, you know? Just like I did some time ago, when you asked for my counsel more often than not. We could… share the burden of the Arling.”

This time, Adrian looked away. Seconds before he did, though, she read something on his face. Shame. What could he be ashamed of? The bard that Marjolaine had trained caught sight of the chance. He was vulnerable, and she had always, always taken care of him before. Doing so when he seemed in discomfort, like now, was only a natural move. 

Leliana stood, walking until she was in front of Adrian. She bent down, holding his face in her hands. “What’s troubling you?” she whispered. 

Adrian curled a lock of her hair around his finger. He still wasn’t looking directly in her eyes—he was looking down instead. “I can’t ask you to do my work… once again. You already did, for far longer than I should have allowed. It would not be fair to you.” He looked up, placing his hands on her shoulders then leaning towards her until he embraced her waist and laid his forehead on hers. “I know you. You’re ready to give the people you love everything you have, even if it means draining yourself of your own energy. I don’t want you to, and I don’t even…” Sighing briefly, he shook his head. “I… need to stand on my own feet, Leli.”

Such a close contact with the man she deeply loved made Leliana lose her focus for a moment. For just a moment, she was just a woman in her man’s arms, who was listening to something that made her happy and proud, something that, even though she would never confess it, somehow assured her she may never perceive him as a load again. In another world, where Anora didn’t exist, she would have simply led him to their bed and made love to him, then fallen asleep in his arms. Instead, she silently begged his forgiveness before letting out the words that, she knew very well, would ruin that moment. 

“You’re this new, self-assured men since after your last mission. Did… something happen? Something that changed you?”

Adrian stiffened in her arms. His face was now a stern mask, and his mouth twisted as if he had just swallowed a bitter medicine. Instead of letting her go, he intensified his grip on her skin. For several seconds, he remained silent. Then, he exhaled a troubled breath. His hand ran along her hip, then her arm, then her shoulder and neck until it found her chin. He gently lifted it until he could stare right into her eyes. “While I was away, something happened. You are right. I…” He chewed on his upper lip. “… I realized something. I realized several things that turned me into a better person. Someone better for you, I hope, than the man I was before.” Pressing his mouth on his enough to brush his lips against hers, he murmured, “Please, vhenan, trust me. Trust me, and don’t ask me again. Never. Can you do that for me?”

Duty and a deeply rooted love battled in Leliana’s mind. As she listened to Adrian’s breath on her mouth and cherished his touch, she recalled how many times she had told herself she was taking care of him in yielding to Anora’s demands, that all she meant to do was to keep him safe. And yet, by insisting, she would end up hurting him, maybe make him think he hadn’t earned her trust. What if, now, he could handle the situation? What if they could work together to get rid of Anora? Inside her inner turmoil, she recognized Marjolane’s voice urging her to be cautious. She could always tell him everything another day, when she would be sure of his cold blood. She couldn’t flatly lie to him and make a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep either. In the end, Leliana discovered, all she wanted was to enjoy the moment and forget about the whole world outside that room. 

Not a single word left her lips, as she captured his lower lip with her mouth, caressing his skin with her tongue before turning that playful gesture in a full, passionate kiss. In his mouth searching hungrily for hers, enough to barely let her take a breath once a while, and in the way his hands danced on her body, on her breast and down, down under her smallclothes, she perceived the same passion running in her veins. For once, Adrian wasn’t detached in any way from her.

**_§§§_**

_… just like every time he fucks you, right, Leliana? He drags you to his bed, fucks you fiercely, then the next time he talks to you he’s all artificial smiles and gestures._

Leliana opened her eyes in the dark, her breath quickened, her heart pounding in her chest. It had been a dream, nothing but a dream, but the echo of that voice still resounded in her ears. Realizing she was clasping the sheets, she slowly let go of the fabric. 

It was just a dream. Only a dream. And yet she was afraid to close her eyes again. Maybe that stomach-knotting sensation, the idea that even after that evening, even after what they had said each other, she could still feel Adrian… forced towards her, would never leave. Or maybe she was afraid to relive in her mind the night of his return, to see the loss in his eyes and feel how he had rebutted her offer to pass the evening together, to help him relax, once again. 

_“Are you alright? I… am here if you need something. Anything. Whatever it is.”_  
_When Leliana attempted to get close enough to him to offer him a hug, Adrian walked backward, blatantly avoiding her touch and her presence._  
_“No. No, just… leave me alone,” he said, curtly._  
_Without not even a ‘sorry’, he turned, leaving her alone with the unpleasant sensation of being just 'someone' to him, and not his woman. In his hour of need, he had utterly refused her and her presence._

Swallowing, Leliana shivered. By her side, Adrian was sleeping with his back to her. That night, he had shut her out and refused her completely. And after all, he had decided not to open his heart to her, too. He could talk all he wanted about ‘trust’ and use it as an excuse to justify his detachment—it didn’t change the fact that he had chosen to keep her in the dark about something so important that had changed him into someone new. Whether she and Adrian strove or not, was there really a point in sharing a life, if all they did was hiding something from each other?

Leliana drew a deep breath. 

Whatever the answer, she needed help to protect him. Even more, if she chose to respect his desires and never question him again. She needed someone who knew how assassins thought and how to counteract their efforts, someone who cared for Adrian enough to put such knowledge to use with the right dedication. 

She needed Zevran.


	22. Blood ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexepected visit surprises Vigil's Keep--one Adrian would have done without. 
> 
> And the following circumstances force him to make a bold request of the last person he was hoping to hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks both to my beta mille libri, and to Eureka234, who helped me tweak a particularly difficult dialogue :)

**_Dragon 32, Parvulis_ **

When Soldier’s Peak appeared on the horizon, Adrian felt almost relieved. Avernus was a creepy old man, whose head was full of fantasies and illusions about how the taint could ultimately be deprived of its deadly qualities and turned into a weapon of some sort, but it was still easier to deal with him than it was talking to the nobles, to any noble—except for Teyrn Cousland. 

As the Fortress drew nearer and nearer, Adrian realized that, unexpectedly and in some incredible manner, the Wardens had become sort of an haven for him. At least, after what had happened to Sophia Dryden, Wardens were expected to not meddle with politics. Something he would have abstained from very, very gladly. Only the precarious situation in Denerim and the need for a quick solution had forced him to become a politician, and that same victory had turned him into an Arl. Otherwise, Hero of Ferelden or not, he’d probably have left for the Anderfels and spent the rest of his life in Weisshaupt.   
The idea made Adrian feel uncomfortable. Sure, he would not be entangled in politics in that case, but he would also have had to renounce a life that, even though it was far from perfect, allowed him to keep Leliana and his friends around him. It was the closest to a clan he could hope for.

Adrian clasped his horse’s reins. As much as he had despised his investiture as Arl, he had to admit that his current life was the best one he could realistically aspire to.

Maybe, one day, he could even hope to… start a family. Strangely enough, now that he wasn’t bound to contribute to the Dalish’s survival—his tainted blood didn’t allow him, it was as simple as that—he didn’t feel the pressure to find a wife and conceive a son. He could either desire a family or not, and no one would blame him if he chose to not father any baby. 

One day, once he had managed to banish that last image of Morrigan from his eyes and those last words from his ears, maybe. 

The cruel way in which she had betrayed him still haunted him, despite his efforts to focus on Leliana and offer her all the love he could hold inside him. Only in the heat of passion, he could let go of everything else. 

But now Leliana was not by his side—she had opted for remaining in Amaranthine, to begin organizing Satinalia. And that very moment, the image of Morrigan staring coldly at him, holding another man’s babies to her breasts, flashed in his mind. 

Why had she laid with someone else, when she had insisted so many times that she wasn’t one prone to share? Even more, Adrian couldn’t help but wonder who the father to those children was, if not him—they were but babies, only a few months old judging from what he had seen. Which meant they had been conceived sometime during the late stages of the Blight. The same Blight during which he and his companions barely had the chance to spend time with anyone else. Sure, as much as he loathed the idea, it was still possible that Morrigan had led some unknown man to her bed while no one was watching her, but even so, why risk a pregnancy? She was smart, she had always been cunning, not to mention that she was truly the last woman he could define as a ‘motherly person’. There was definitely something that wasn’t sitting right in the whole matter.

Adrian gritted his teeth in an attempt to vanquish those thoughts. It was a riddle he would probably never solve. Was he to be subjected to her riddles his whole life?

Could he ever put Morrigan’s betrayal behind him and really, utterly trust someone, anyone, again? 

He desperately craved to build a new life with Leliana, the only woman who’d never lied to him and never, ever disrespected him. He wished to ask for her hand, fantasize about their children, and see them grow, but he simply couldn’t. Not yet. He couldn’t truly be hers until he sorted out the mess in his mind and in his heart. Even more, she had to remain uninformed about that torment. He would not burden her with something she could do nothing to solve, nor he had any intention to break her heart. His mess was his burden only to carry.

With a sigh, he slightly slowed down and signaled the four Wardens accompanying him to move forward. Only three complied, though—the fourth rode by his side.

Adrian didn’t need to turn. He knew exactly who had ignored his command, and in truth, he wasn’t even that prone to call Velanna to order. 

“I couldn’t stop you even if I wanted to, Velanna. So speak,” Adrian stated quietly. 

“Well, Commander, when you’re at the Keep you pass your time locked up in your quarters. The moments you don’t, you’re training, and training is no proper time to talk to you,” Velanna replied. “So, you can’t really blame me if I take this opportunity.”

She was right, Adrian was aware of that, and he couldn’t really blame her for that vitriolic nuance in her voice. He had indeed neglected his lethallin and lethallan. Of that, he was at fault. He owed her some kind of explanation.

“Guilty as charged,” he admitted. “It’s just—“

“Don’t,” Velanna interrupted him, raising a slender hand. “I am not going to ask questions, because I know that sometimes whispering is enough to make some matters even more unbearable than they already are.” Her green eyes were tinged with worry. “Just tell me one thing. Are you alright, lethallin?”

Saying ‘yes’ would mean to lie outright. Saying ‘no’, on the other hand, would cause Velanna to worry immensely, and to do so knowing she couldn’t help him. “I will be, Velanna,” he finally said, one word heavier than the other. “It will take time, but I believe I have ultimately found the way to something that resembles happiness.”  
Velanna remained silent for several seconds, her eyes on the road ahead of them. Now, Soldier’s Peak stood in front of them in all its glory. “I see. I’m… glad,” she replied in the end, although she sounded a little unsure. 

The two Dalish elves covered the rest of the trail in silence. There was, after all, no need for further words.

**_§§§_ **

As Adrian climbed the stairs leading to Avernus’ tower, he understood why he never showed up in the courtyard . Those endless, ruined stairs didn’t fit very well for a centuries-old man, not to mention that the Warden scholar had all he needed right in his laboratory and quarters. He didn’t even have to bother about getting his food—a recruit took care of it.

The more he neared the top of the tower, the more he smelled the weird smell that had marked the mage’s laboratory from the beginning. Each time, before entering, Adrian smelled the air to make sure there was no trace of blood—he had forbidden Avernus from sacrificing other innocents in continuing his research, and ordered him to work in a more ethical way. So far, he hadn’t found any evidence pointing to noncompliance. 

Finally, he came in sight of the laboratory. The place looked clean and tidy, except for the dead darkspawn laid on the operating table. 

“Avernus?” Adrian called, looking around. The old mage was nowhere to be found, and for a moment Adrian was afraid the man had finally succumbed to the taint. 

One of the lateral doors opened, and Avernus entered the laboratory. “I heard you even before you entered, Warden-Commander,” the old mage said. “We share the same tainted blood. Either it was a Warden, or a darkspawn had decided to pay me a visit.”

Any other person could have tinged those words with sarcasm. Not Avernus. To him, the darkspawn taint was the subject of his research. Definitely not the subject for a joke.

“I am aware of that,” Adrian replied, quietly. He moved around the lab, unsure to how to present his request. It was probably something no one had ever attempted before. 

Avernus folded his hands behind his back, staring at him in silence. It was only after a while that he asked, “Are you here to check on me, as you periodically do, or do you need something, Commander?”

Adrian turned. The man looked older and older, more and more tired each time he saw him. His brain was still brimming with ideas, though, and each new suggestion made his eyes twinkle. 

“Actually, I am in need of your services. Know, though, that I doubt someone ever asked something similar before, and in addition, you’ll be bound to secrecy.”

Before the old Warden mage bowed his head, Adrian caught a glimpse of interest in his expression. “Glad to know you finally value my work, Commander. What can I do for you?”

Drawing a deep breath, Adrian told himself that, as much as he hated to bring back to his mind the experience in the Deep Roads, he had to if he ever wished to hunt down the Architect. He had to accept the life he had, yes, but if hadn’t been for the Architect he would never have left his clan in the first place. Tamlen would have been alive still. That, he could not forgive the talking darkspawn. 

“There is a new… breed of darkspawn, Avernus. One born of the combination of their blood with that of a Warden. This new breed is capable of talking, and reasoning, enough to be able to resist the Old Gods’ song.”

The mage’s eyes widened in full surprise. He opened his mouth to talk, only to be prevented from that when Adrian resumed talking. 

“Now, we, as Wardens, can sense the corruption, thus the darkspawn. I need you to determine if there’s some way for me to… distinguish this new breed from the old one.”  
“Intriguing. Very intriguing,” Avernus mumbled as he walked around the room. “This might change everything. They aren’t compelled to obey the Song. Perhaps we could also be freed from what plagues us. They’re all tainted, sadly. Would we turn into ghouls? And yet maybe, maybe…“

Adrian waited patiently. Interrupting him would only lengthen the conversation—that mumbling was part of Avernus’ thinking process. 

In the end, the mage looked at Adrian. “I need to meet one of those creatures. And possibly, whoever… created this new breed. We could benefit so much from such a collaboration.”

The mere thought of collaborating with the one responsible for the Fifth Blight made Adrian’s skin shiver. He wanted to kill him, not to sit side to side with him. Still, he couldn’t tell Avernus he knew exactly who was that creator, and especially not what had happened in the Deep Roads after the Mother’s defeat. The Order would hang him, and Avernus could even propose to spare the damn thing’s life ‘for the sake of science’. 

“I… need to find him, or her, first, Avernus,” Adrian confessed. “And finding his creatures is the only lead I have at my disposal. That’s where you come into play.”  
The old mage extended his arms. “Bring me one of those creatures, then. Even a sample of blood and skin can do, even though,” he wiggled his nose, “a living specimen would be the best option.” The man hesitated just a second. His expression darkened. “Just… be as quick as you can, Commander. I’m not sure how much time I have left.”

“Do you mean…?”

Avernus’ expression became almost dreamy. “I am starting to hear things, even while awake: A voice—more beautiful than any other—that calls to me from the depths. In my dreams, I see the Black City, and I am drawn towards it. There is something there, an answer to what this taint is, this taint that we share with the darkspawn. The piece of knowledge I crave.”  
Adrian listened in silence, his heart skipped a beat. He had dreamt the Architect, yes, and hadn’t heard any voice, but… Was it possible that that dream was the first sign of his Calling? Shaken, Adrian shook his head. 

“I’ll be as quick as possible, Avernus,” he replied, before leaving the mage to his studies.

* * *

Adrian noticed that something was off the very moment he entered Amaranthine’s courtyard. As he crossed the yard, every set of eyes was on him, and the air was silent except for a suffused whisper.   
The Warden-Commander turned around. No wounded, no destruction around—plus, he had met no enemies along the road. Luckily, Vigil’s Keep was not under attack. What could be happening, then? What could make his Wardens cower in awe?

“A few days and our world turns around,” Velanna whispered, riding by his side. 

“Quite right. At least the only problem for a Dalish clan are the shems,” Adrian replied. And in that moment, he really missed his old life. More than ever.

There was no sense in keeping wondering, though. Adrian swiftly turned around, heading towards the nearest Warden Recruit. In that moment, the front door opened and Sigrun began marching towards him.   
Adrian headed towards her. As he neared her, he noticed the frown on the dwarf’s face. Definitely not a good sign. Sigrun was perhaps the most cheerful person he had met in his whole life. If she was upset…

“Commander. Warden.” Sigrun addressed him and Velanna.

“What is happening, Sigrun?” Adrian inquired. He kept his voice calm, controlled. 

Sigrun opened her mouth to talk, then closed it again. “A Chamberlain of the Grey is here.” She specified, needlessly but with a certain apprehension in her eyes, ”In Amaranthine. He charged me with notifying you that you’re expected in the War Room. At once.”

Not that he knew enough to understand what the duty of the Chamberlain was, but he still knew enough to infer that this piece of news could not be good. An honorary appointee of the Order didn’t certainly come all the way from Weisshaupt only to congratulate him, or simply to deliver a message. All the same, he could not imagine what crime could he have committed to drawing the Order’s attention. Unless…  
… unless they knew about the Architect and his involvement. Of course. Sooner or later, other Wardens were bound to meet those talking darkspawn. And given what had happened recently near Amaranthine, it was no surprise he was the first to be interrogated.

“Commander?” Sigrun called once again. “Chamberlain Bolton said at once.”

Slowly, Adrian let go of the reins, nodded and got off his horse. He gestured to Sigrun and Velanna to leave him, then he started walking inside. 

Each step felt heavier than the previous. Which destiny awaited him? What would the punishment he was about to receive for his actions be?

“I told you, I have no idea!”

When Adrian reached the War Room’s door, he froze in front of it. He knew that voice, all too well. 

Loghain Mac Tir was at Amaranthine once again, and apparently, he was being interrogated. As much as he loathed that voice, Loghain’s presence somehow eased his burden. Loghain had nothing to do with the Architect, and therefore that convocation could not be about the creature.

Drawing a breath, Adrian threw the doors open. 

Three pairs of eyes immediately turned towards him. One, Loghain’s, was full of hatred. The second belonged to a human man who, according to the griffon embedded on his armor, was Chamberlain Bolton. The third pair of eyes was unmistakably elven, and the woman wearing it was dressed as a Circle Mage. While Chamberlain Bolton eyed with him a certain suspicion, the elven mage appeared more confused than inquisitive. 

Adrian moved forward. Loghain was sitting on a chair right in front of the Chamberlain, who was standing still. Beside Loghain, an empty chair had been set. Chamberlain Bolton was in his fifties, obviously a two-handed warrior considering the broadsword on his back. Despite his middle-age, he was powerfully built and his wits looked swift enough. 

“Warden-Commander Mahariel. Please, come in and take your seat,” Bolton began, gesturing towards the empty chair. He looked calm, far from exploding into an enraged outburst.

“Chamberlain Bolton,” Adrian replied, courteously. He had no intention to anger the man. At least, not before having been informed about what the Order wished of him.   
When he sat down, Loghain didn’t even turn. He kept looking in front of him, stone-faced. 

“So, Warden-Commander… I truly hope you’ll be able to help me. And the Order, of course. I am here under the First Warden’s order,” Bolton began, almost amiably. “Since your comrade, here,” he gestured at Loghain, “is unable to offer the answer the First Warden asks for, we figured that our best bet might be you.”

Adrian blinked once. All he had in common with Loghain was the Fifth Blight. And for a Chamberlain to travel so far…

“The problem is, gentlemen,” the superior officer explained, crossing his arms, “that Warden Mac Tir has defied a… collateral effect of the Joining. Each and every person present in this room, including Enchanter Fiona,” the elven woman bowed her head, “is aware of what happens when a Warden gives the final blow to an Archdemon. That man, or that woman, dies.” He shrugged. “It’s as simple as that. Garahel died. Corin died. Loris died. Mac Tir, however, killed an Archdemon and is still breathing.”

So, that’s what this visit was about. The exceptional circumstances of the Fifth Blight. Adrian struggled to remain composed. As much as he wished to know which trick Loghain had used, he had also heard Morrigan’s words loud and clear, that night before the battle.

_"I know what it takes to slay an Archdemon. And I come to offer a way out. You may call it a trick, but it can save your life and end the Blight at the same time. All you have to do is lay with me. Just for this night.”_

She had mentioned saving his life, not Loghain’s. And yet the mere mention of that conversation could send the Wardens on Morrigan’s hunt, since it was the one, true clue he could offer.

“The Order,” Bolton continued, “does not believe that the Joining mixture changed into something different, all of a sudden and by itself. It is believed instead that some other factor came into play. Warden Mac Tir, here, claims that he has no idea what happened. He swears that absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happened, either after you conscripted him, or before and during the Battle. He declares that the last night before the Battle of Denerim he retired to his room and never left until it was time to march. Have you… noticed anything weird during the journey that led to the Battle of Denerim, Warden-Commander Mahariel?”

If he told the Chamberlain the truth, the Wardens could perhaps find Morrigan. And if the Order managed to, he could finally obtain his answers. Adrian gritted his teeth. How far was the Order willing to go, though? And what could happen to those children, if their mother was imprisoned in Weisshaupt until further notice? You’d get your vengeance, a tiny voice whispered into his ear.   
Adrian vehemently shook his head. No. He was not that kind of man. If any vengeance had to be obtained, he’d have it by his own means. 

“Is that a no, Warden-Commander? You, too, didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary during your travels? Two of your companions were mages, and I… wonder,” he pondered, “if certain branches of magic can somehow prevent the Archdemon’s soul from taking residence in the Warden’s body.” 

Adrian barely managed to not wince. The Chamberlain was right. Magic, except maybe for the power of the Ashes, was the most obvious factor that could interfere with the relationship between the Wardens’ and darkspawn’s blood. 

“Not that I noticed,” Adrian whispered. 

“Perhaps,” Bolton replied, looking pensive, “I’m asking too much. After all, magic is mysterious to the mages themselves, sometimes. There is much that a non-mage may have not realized.” 

“A wise remark, Chamberlain.” Not willing to draw any more attention, Adrian didn’t say another word.

Chamberlain Bolton simply waited in silence for a while. Then, he sighed. “I must admit I had better hopes regarding the man called ‘the Hero of Ferelden’. It looks like I’m bound to return to Weisshaupt empty-handed.”

“My apologies if we are disappointing, Chamberlain Bolton,” Loghain interjected. “In our defense, we were quite shaken. We had just been informed that one of us had to die to ensure the Archdemon’s defeat. I daresay both I and the Warden-Commander were mostly focused on our forthcoming demise.” 

The Chamberlain smiled like a shark. “That’s the truly the most revealing piece of information you have fed me in weeks, Mac Tir. What makes you think that the night prior to the Battle of Denerim was the range of time I was focusing on? In fact, I was interested in the whole journey that led a peculiar group to become the Heroes of the Fifth Blight.” 

Adrian swiftly turned towards Loghain. The former Hero of River Dane widened his eyes, speechless. Like a rabbit caught in a trap. What was on his face? Guilt? Adrian wished that Leliana was with him, as no one could read a facial expression better than she could.

“Let us see if Warden-Commander Mahariel can provide us another piece of the puzzle,” Bolton stated, breaking the silence. He moved his gaze on Adrian. “Since you haven’t noticed anything of help, perhaps your former companions could remember… or be aware, of something that eluded you. Please, be so kind to list the names of the Heroes of the Fifth Blight, and remind me where they are now, so that the Order can track them down.”

Swallowing, Adrian nodded in agreement. “Who do you wish me to start with?”

“First, mention the ones easier to find.”

After having discovered Loghain’s apparent lie, or omission, the sneaky bastard perhaps aimed to be sure that he wasn’t lying as well. And by letting him categorize his companions, he hoped he would slip where he was the weakest. 

“Well,” Adrian began, “Oghren is now a Grey Warden. He’s gone through the Joining, and you can speak to him easily since he’s stationed here in Amaranthine. The golem, Shale, remained in Orzammar, where she’s aiding the dwarves in dealing with darkspawn. Lady Leliana is here in Amaranthine as well.” He didn’t like the idea of Bolton interrogating Leliana, but she was, after all, innocent. She certainly had nothing to hide, so she was not in danger.

He stopped to think for a second. Everyone else could be anywhere in the known world. Or unknown world, in Morrigan’s case.

“Lady Leliana. Your partner, if I am correct,” Bolton stated. And without waiting for an answer, he continued. “What about the remaining heroes?”

“I don’t think they’re as easy to reach as Leliana and Oghren are,” Adrian admitted. 

“Well, if you give us any helpful indication, the Order may give it a try. Please, start with the ones you consider more… reachable.”

Adrian fidgeted on the chair. “The Crow, Zevran, had a score to settle with the Crows of Antiva. If I had to bet, I’d advise you to search for him in Antiva. As you know, however, the Crows are truly everywhere.” He raised his eyes to meet the Chamberlain’s. “I doubt you have any chance to speak with Enchanter Wynne, Sten, or Alistair Theirin. And regarding Alistair, I doubt he has any desire to speak with any Warden.”

Bolton twisted his lips. He spoke curtly. “Alistair Theirin went through the Joining, thus he will answer the Order if called to an interrogation. I don’t care how much he hates Mac Tir, or the Wardens from   
having had him go through the Joining. Continue, Warden Commander.”

For once in his life, Adrian was glad to not have the slightest idea where Alistair was. At least, he would not be able to send the Wardens after his tail. “I have no idea where Alistair Theirin is now. Queen Anora exiled him, so I can only guess he’s nowhere in Ferelden. Sten, the Qunari, traveled back to his homeland. Enchanter Wynne mentioned a journey to Tevinter, but as I’ve not heard from her in a while, she might have changed her plans, have gone back to the Circle of Ferelden, or even be dead. She was, after all, elderly. As for Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds…” He hesitated for a split second. If he told Bolton she’d left Denerim before the final battle, he could consider it a suspicious behavior. If he lied and said that she had fought against the Archdemon, however, any other companion of his could expose his lie. And sadly, he had no way to warn them all to omit that tiny, yet fundamental detail. “I have no idea where she’s left for. Maybe she’s gone back to her mother. She never wished to leave her hut in the first place.”

The room and its occupants remained silent for several seconds. Loghain continued to look forward. Bolton stared at them. Fiona didn’t move, nor say a word. 

“Anything you wish to add, Warden-Commander?” Chamberlain Bolton finally inquired.

“Nothing,” he answered. 

Chamberlain Bolton shrugged. “We’re good for now, then. Have some accommodation ready for me, Enchanter Fiona, and Warden Mac Tir. I’ll interrogate the dwarf and Lady Leliana tomorrow.”

Both Adrian and Loghain stood. Casting a quick glance at Loghain, Adrian wondered if perhaps he could steal whatever secret the man was hiding during his stay. 

“We’ll handle this… brief cohabitation in three ways, Commander. The first is that Enchanter Fiona is granted access to the Keep’s library, and that no one disturbs her. My second order is that Mac Tir has to be treated as a prisoner. You’ll assign him one of the rooms, and no one is allowed to visit him except me. Under any circumstance. Thirdly… this is merely a visit from one the Wardens’ Chamberlain, to make sure that the Arling is run properly. And if anyone asks you, my opinion is that the Arling of Amaranthine is a perfectly oiled machinery. Are we clear?”  
It took all of Adrian’s self-control to not swear. Not only he was not allowed to have a much-desired chat with Loghain, he couldn’t even warn Leliana about the forthcoming interrogation. Not that the latter mattered much—he had only wished to warn her to not have her worry about him.

“As you command, Chamberlain,” Adrian stated. 

Fiona and Chamberlain Bolton left first. In the doorway, before opening the doors, Bolton whispered few curt words to the mage. Who merely nodded, without any other reply.  
Adrian could not help but wonder how Enchanter Fiona, the elven mage who had accompanied the Wardens, King Maric, and Loghain down in the bowels of the Earth, in the lair of the Architect, had managed to free herself of the taint. It was virtually impossible, and yet she had been successful. The Architect, too, had completed the unthinkable task of giving his ‘brethen’ the ability to think and ignore the Song. Was it really a chance, that the two beings who had accomplished impossible tasks had set foot in Kul-Baras?

Turning, Adrian noticed how Loghain was staring at the mage—there was a weirdly nostalgic expression on his face. Yet again, though, he would not be able to find out what was going on in former Hero of River Dane’s head.

* * *

It had to be Amaranthine Chantry. Leliana was not at Vigil’s Keep, and at that time of the evening, the only place she could have gone was the Chantry, the place where she soothed her mind. And that she had some concern to soothe, Adrian was certain of. He was not blind, nor deaf. Most of the time she kept her façade, but more than once he had caught a glimpse of anguish on her face. He had waited, and waited, hoped that she would open up to him as she used to, but nothing of the sort had happened. Leliana had remained silent, even after their passionate exchange of a few nights ago. 

Adrian stopped in front of the Chantry gates. Was it really fair to ask her to lie for his sake? Would he hurt her by asking her to protect another woman? Could she interpret his confession as a sign that, perhaps, he had not put the past behind him?

Nonetheless, he had to. To really let go of Morrigan, he couldn’t afford himself a petty vengeance. Not to mention those children—they might not be his, but they were still children. What would become of those children, if their mother was locked in a Warden cell and tirelessly questioned?

When he opened the doors, the smell of incense filled his nostrils and the Chantry of Amaranthine showed up in front of his eyes. It was a small Chantry compared the one in Denerim, but its clerics were dedicated enough to make it shine in front of the devotee. 

Just as he expected, Leliana was there, sitting on a bench. Before, during the Blight, Adrian remembered, she used to kneel in front of the altar; now, she kept somehow more distant from her Maker.   
Adrian drew a deep breath. She had to be engaged in prayer, or she would have turned upon hearing the doors open. He had to perhaps hurt her, true, but he had no intention to disrupt her prayer. So he sat, waiting for her in silence. 

Perhaps five minutes passed before Leliana stood and turned, apparently ready to leave the Chantry. The moment she saw him, though, she almost froze. She was too far for Adrian to read her face and the emotions on it, but her body language surely revealed she was beyond surprised. Not that Adrian could truly blame her—he had entered in the Chantry twice in a whole year. 

When Adrian stood with every intention to walk towards Leliana, all of a sudden his legs felt as heavy as a rock. He had meant to meet her halfway, and yet he could barely take five steps. In that moment,   
Leliana started walking along the central nave, towards him. The more she neared, the more he felt guilty for having to ask her what he was about to. Endless seconds passed before she was, finally, in front of him. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Leliana whispered, a weak smile on her lips. 

At first, Adrian could not reply at all. Gathering his courage, he swallowed. “You always say that’s where the Maker listens to us. Our words, our thoughts. Each single piece of us. I never made a mystery of not having committed to the Maker, but…” He bit his tongue, silencing his thoughts and his voice. He was making a mess of it all, while what he truly meant to say was that it felt right to him confessing a great burden where she felt the most comfortable—in the Chantry. 

“What are you trying to tell me?” she asked, softly enough that he barely heard her words.

There was a certain tension in her voice, something that was not quite right. Given how he had approached the matter, it was only natural. He deliberately chose to not look her in the eyes, too afraid to spot suspicion or, even worse, disappointment. 

Adrian sat, only to find out how restless he was. Standing once again, he began, “I’m not supposed to let you know, vhenan, but it’s only fair that I do. The Chamberlain… is not here to check how I’m administering the Arling. He’s got questions… about how Loghain survived the fight with the Archdemon. He was not… meant to stay alive after having slain the beast, but he is. And the Order wants to know what happened.”

His words were met with a stunned, long silence. When Adrian raised his eyes enough to take a peek at Leliana’s face, he didn’t see utter surprise, as he had expected. She was plain scared.   
“What… do you mean?” she inquired, placing a hand on the nearest bench, as if she was about to lose her balance. 

She had turned so pale that Adrian felt the impulse to support her and make sure that she was not about to swoon, except that as he neared her she sat. In silence, she clearly waited for him to continue.   
“It might have been me. I insisted on slaying the beast, but Loghain refused to let me…” Let him what? Forsake whatever life could await him as a Warden? Leave Leliana and his friends behind? He shook his head, and quickly resumed talking. “The point is that the Warden who steals an Archdemon’s last spark of life is bound to die. And that Loghain experienced a far different fate. They… the Wardens, they want to know what happened. What could have caused this anomaly. Loghain will go through further questioning, and the Chamberlain will… ask you and Oghren if something, anything of significance happened during our journey. Especially during the night prior the Battle of Denerim.”

There. The first, easy part was done. Out of the corner of his eye, Adrian saw the way Leliana was holding her knees with her hands—so tight that her knuckles had turned white. The moment he realized the reason behind her shock, Adrian felt unforgivably senseless and ignorant. This might have been the easy part for him, but what about Leliana? He had just told him he had insisted on going after his own death. He extended a trembling hand towards her. 

“What else do I need to know?” Leliana asked. 

He stopped his movement midway. She was on the verge of tears, as frail as a wounded halla. He could feel it in her voice. The thought was enough to make him feel like a monster. He had hurt her, and now he had to ask her to lie for Morrigan’s sake. Was it really the right course of action? Was it really worth it?

Could he really live with himself knowing that the mother of two children was chased by the Wardens, and that those children could grow up like two orphans? Like he had?

“Something might have interfered with the usual fate of the slayer of an Archdemon. Something I have not told the Chamberlain.” He added before she could interject, “You’re in distress. Please, tell me if you can handle this conversation or not.” This time, when he reached for her, Leliana held his hand with hers. 

“If…” she sniffled. “..if you are here, talking about all this, it means it’s important. I want you to finish whatever you have to say.”

The mere fact that she was allowing him to hurt her once again made him feel even worse. 

“I don’t want to distress you, vhenan. I want to make you happy. I want us to forget the Blight, all the horrors we have witnessed and focus on—“

She held his hand even tighter. 

“Just… talk. If you don’t, you’ll leave me wondering what you meant to tell me. And it would be even worse, my love.”

As tragic as it was, Leliana was right. He had dropped a fireball, the least he could do was limit the damage. He exhaled a trembling breath. 

“I.. think something saved Loghain’s life. I don’t know why, or how, but…” It felt wrong, insincere. It was not ‘something’. The truth was… “…someone.”

He felt Leliana’s touch stiffen. Not daring to look at her, he stared at the wood of the plank in front of him.

“Someone?” she asked. Her tone had turned icy, far different from someone about to crumble. Far more dangerous. 

Somehow, Adrian was grateful for her anger. Despite not being able to explain what had angered her—perhaps the idea that he had kept several secrets from her?— he hoped that her anger could help her withstand the incoming blow. 

“The night before the battle Morrigan came to me. She… said there was a way for me to survive, were I the one chosen to slay the beast.” Leliana’s touch felt colder now, somehow distant. She didn’t cling to him anymore, even though she had not moved her hand away. “She…” he ended up faltering “…all I had to do was sleep with her, she said. Just that night. Then, she would leave to never return.”  
In the silence of Amaranthine’s Chantry, he heard Leliana’s breath quicken slightly. Still, not a single syllable left her lips. She didn’t move—she remained rigid, like a stone statue. 

Maybe what he was about to say could soothe her pain, just a bit. For a little.“I refused her. I… couldn’t. I couldn’t have…” He didn’t have to tell her how conflicted he had been that night, how he had hoped that Morrigan had something entirely different to confess him. She didn’t need to know. Those feelings belonged to the past. How, then, could he explain why her why he wanted to keep Morrigan safe? She didn’t need to know about his secretive journey to the Dragonbone Wastes either. 

Leliana’s reply was a faint whisper. “For a moment I thought you...” She didn’t finish the sentence. There was no need to. “I mean, she wasn’t in Denerim during the final battle, and you two had history, so…”

“I did not, vhenan,” Adrian repeated. Every ounce of him wished to hug her, to tell her everything was alright. To make her forget that conversation. He couldn’t, though. Not yet. “I did not. Please remember that I did not, because even so… I need to ask you to lie to the Chamberlain. To lie about Morrigan.”

She turned like a snake. Even if he didn’t see her brilliant, blue eyes on him he perceived she was staring at him. When he forced himself to stare back at her, he saw in her eyes all the disbelief in the whole world.

“What?” Leliana almost hissed. Now, she withdrew her hand, leaving his empty and alone. 

“Vhenan, don’t…” Adrian began, reaching for her once again, arms opened. She retreated further away along the plank. 

“Why should I? Why should I endanger both of us by lying to a Grey Warden Chamberlain?” she asked, coldly enough to make him shiver. 

In all honesty, Adrian could not blame her completely. Morrigan had been her rival, not to mention someone who had never treated her kindly once. She had left them all alone against the Archdemon, in the darkest hour of need. He could only appeal to her compassion. “Vhenan, please. If you tell the Chamberlain that she left the night before the battle, the Wardens will want further answers. If you reveal what I told you, they will definitely go after her. She’d be hunted like an animal, just like you were after your last mission under Marjolaine’s orders. Would you really inflict such a fate on anyone? Even her?”

Leliana remained focused on him, her lips pursed. She was literally reading him, whatever he was showing on his face. There was no way he could hide how important was for him to keep Morrigan safe—that was the whole point of that heartbreaking request. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t leave either, despite the hurt and the rage on her face. 

“I refused her. Remember? You are here, with me. Not her.” Adrian moved towards her, slowly enough to allow her to keep her distance if she wanted to. Leliana remained still and rigid.

“I’m doing it for you, because I want to trust you. Not for her sake,” Leliana finally spat. 

Before Adrian could reply, she stood and left the Chantry without looking behind once. Adrian took a deep breath. He was at the same time relieved that Leliana had agreed to his request, and extremely saddened by her reaction. Did she really think that his mind, or even worse, his heart was elsewhere? 

For the first time, Adrian wondered if he had gone too far. If that request could destroy what he and Leliana had built.


	23. Where time does not flow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragonwastes Eluvian promised to be a shelter. It may turn into a trap instead, one Morrigan has to escape from, some way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very warm thank you to my beta, mille libri, who’s guiding me in this attempt to write about children and motherhood. 
> 
> As I am the embodiement of the anti-motherly-woman, I truly treasure her assistance.

**_Dragon 32, Parvulis_ **

There was no place where time wasn’t restless. Sometimes, it moved agonizingly slowly, as it had when Morrigan was waiting for the end of the Battle of Denerim and the following news. The wait had been excruciating, and back then the Witch of the Wilds would happily have sped up time to find out whether both Wardens had survived, or Urthemiel’s soul had claimed one of their bodies for him. On the contrary, the moment she had been forced to leave the Wilds with Adrian and Alistair, Morrigan had desired time to stop and never part her from her mother and the quietness tinged with mystery so distinctive of the Korcari Wilds, the only place that, for her, held a familiar flow of time. Still, even in the Korcari Wilds time moved forward—not only the succession of the seasons, but the new litters of the local fauna, too, signaled how lively, how real were the Wilds. There, she had turned into a woman, and the Wilds had changed alongside with her, or at least they had in her eyes. 

The Crossroads, though, were something entirely different. A place Morrigan had never thought could exist, a place frozen in time where nothing, not even the slightest detail changed. It was like living inside a painted picture—the picture of an ancient time where elves ruled over the whole Thedas, rivaled only by devious Tevinter. But that time was dead and gone, and so were the colors of the painting. 

Both she and Kieran were fish out of the water. Despite having been trained by a century-old creature, at the very core Morrigan was only a human, and as such unfit to walk the Crossroads, let alone inhabit them for over a month. And Kieran, despite perhaps housing the soul of an Old God and thus being in a sense one of the most ancient creatures who ever lived, was still nothing more than a six-month-old child. Urthemiel’s soul could very well be alive and lively inside him, but it was nonetheless chained inside a fragile, tiny body, and deprived of its mighty voice. 

Valena, on the other hand, seemed almost perfectly comfortable. She happily crawled from one perfectly still tree to another, leaving a trail of the green that grass had once been and, from time to time, caressing the coarse bark and tinging it with a lively brown. Under her touch, the Crossroads breathed, showing a fraction of the magnificence they once possessed. 

As much as she enjoyed watching her daughter creating brief sprinkles of life where there was none, Morrigan knew that she had to find a way out, a way to activate another Eluvian. On the other side of the one she had stepped into, the guardian her mother had subdued to allow her passage certainly waited, and she could not take the chance to have to fight it. Remaining where they were now was not a long-term option—she had food only for a few months, and there was no way to hunt, or buy, more in the Crossroads.

 

**_Dragon 32, Harvestmere_ **

Morrigan traced the umpteenth line on her grimoire’s page. In the Crossroads, to distinguish day and night was impossible, thus she had resorted to trace time by counting the hours the best she could. Closing the grimoire, she sighed and laid down on her pallet. One month had passed since she had first entered the Crossroads.

By her side, both Valena and Kieran were sleeping quite peacefully. She stared at their childish faces, looked at them as their chests rose, and then fell, at every breath. 

Which of them housed Urthemiel’s soul?

In all honesty, Morrigan could not be sure. Yes, she had performed the ritual the evening prior to the battle, but by that time Adrian’s child was already growing inside her. Was Kieran somehow marked at the eyes with Urthemiel’s soul, or had the Old Gods chosen her daughter? And if so, which baby could be Urthemiel’s favorite?

What exactly had happened, the night of the ritual? According to the plan, the one having Urthemiel’s soul inside was Kieran, but… what if the chosen child turned out to be Valena? In that case, what had she inflicted upon Kieran? Would the taint harm him in some way, much later during his life?

Morrigan had always assumed that Flemeth would take care of her, and explain to her what exactly it meant for a living, breathing person to have an Old God’s soul inside him or her. Now, Mother was the very being she was trying to escape, the very reason she had retreated in the motionless Crossroads, and she was left alone with her question and doubts.

For the first time in her life, Morrigan cursed her tendency to turn a blind ear to the Chantry’s beliefs. The Old Gods were a matter of interest for mainly two subjects: the Chantry and the Tevinter Imperium. And due to her own sense of superiority, all she knew for certain was that the true nature of the Old Gods was unknown. Mother could have lied about that too, sure, but undoubtedly, to Morrigan their nature was truly unknown. Morrigan bent her knees, holding her legs to her chest. For now, she had to be content with whatever information the Chantry and Mother had offered her. 

According to the Chantry, the Ancient Magisters had entered the Golden City and tainted it, creating darkspawn somehow. That was it. And in any case, none of that was of use to find out what the Old Gods truly were. Mother, though, had been a bit more detailed and offered a different view of the matter, but being Mother… could Morrigan trust her words?

Groaning in frustration, she had to admit herself that she had little choice. All she could do was start digging from what Mother had taught her, and hope to understand something more about the soul inhabiting one of her children.

_When was magic born, Mother?_

She had posed that question once, and Mother’s answer had been connected to the Old Gods. According to Flemeth, everything had started several centuries before the supposed invasion of the Golden City. The dreamers of the Neromenian tribes, one of the first human tribes to set foot on Thedas, had heeded the Old Gods’ call coming from the Fade and subsequently learned magic from them. Thus, the Neromenians had started to worship the Old Gods… that appeared to them in the form of dragons. Only much later, the Old Gods had spoken again to mortals and passed on the knowledge of blood magic to the ancient Tevinter mages.

That was it. To a child, Flemeth had not explained more. And later on, when she had expressed the same question once again, her mother had harshly reminded her that she had never witnessed such ancient events firsthand, thus she was unable to provide more specific answers. She had only mentioned a cult worshipping Lucasan, called The Last Moon, that had risen to power in the early Dragon Age, that had attempted to blanket Thedas in a never-ending night. 

Perhaps the Old Gods had given magic to the humanity. Nonetheless, later on, they had either darkened their own soul, or at least gained a sinister fame. What had she truly accepted to resurrect? What could her chosen child become? Why did Mother want that child so much, and could she have planned the whole matter knowing an innocent child could end up being hurt? 

 

**_Dragon 32, Firstfall_ **

Once again, Morrigan turned the Eluvian shard over in her hands. And once again, nothing happened. 

As much as that shard had been helpful—no, vital, in her finding the Crossroads, now it was no use at all. All the shard did, now that the Eluvian she had come from had been opened, was light up while she walked near certain mirrors. That may mean the shard somehow perceived which Eluvians led near Kirkwall, where Merrill’s mirror was, since the artifact had been linked, but none of that helped in opening any of those other Eluvias present at the Crossroads. 

Many were dark and lifeless, the glass broken or chipped. Those, Morrigan could not open nor repair. Others, though, still breathed life and magic, somehow. As if they were waiting for the return of the elven travelers that used to roam those magical streets. 

Morrigan crossed her arms, pondering. She had no way to be sure where the active Eluvians led exactly—all she could guess was that the ones near which the fragment almost did not shine were situated very, very far from Kirkwall. Perhaps… 

She stopped her pacing. All around her were so many mirrors. Whoever had created the Eluvians had certainly put them in a certain order. There was no way, for anyone, no matter how skilled or talented, to not get lost in a labyrinth of portals, unless, of course, they had been placed in a very precise order. And since apparently she had found the joining link of all the main Eluvians, trying to figure out, more or less, which mirror led where was worth a try. After all, she had her enchanted shard as a compass, she knew where one of them led—in the Dragonbone Wastes—and was also aware that one of the others, probably one of the broken ones since Duncan had destroyed its counterpart, could once function as a street leading somewhere in the Brecilian Forest, near where Adrian’s clan had camped before he became a Warden. Everything considered, she had enough coordinates to, at least, make an attempt. 

Standing in front of the Eluvian she had stepped through, Morrigan tried to paint a map of Thedas in her own mind. Mother had never told her much about the continent’s geography, but more than once, when she was just a girl, she had browsed amongst her belongings and taken a look at the ancient, weird maps Flemeth had kept—not to mention the times she had studied a map with her companions during the Fifth Blight. She was in no way a cartographer, but she was quite sure she could tell what lay north, south, west, and east of Amaranthine. Maybe, the currently known world was far smaller than the one the ancient elves had explored. In that case, trying to somehow map the Eluvians would turn out useless. In that case, Morrigan resolved, she would start over and maybe choose a portal not far from Kirkwall or the Wastes, to be sure to not land in some deserted and forgotten nation. 

Before she started walking, Morrigan turned around a couple of times. It was clear, even though she could not see every mirror in the distance, that they were placed in something that resembled a circle. So, if her theory was correct… She took a couple of steps to her left, nearing the Eluvian beside the one leading to the guardian her mother had tamed and the Dragonbone Wastes. The more she moved to the left, the more the shard shone. At some point, though, its light started to fade. Did that mean the Eluvians to the left of the Wastes artifact led, in order, to the Free Marches, to Antiva, to Rivain, and maybe even to Seheron, Par Vollen, and the current Tevinter Imperium? To make sure, Morrigan walked back to the starting Eluvian, and this time she tried taking the path to its right. This time, the red light of the shard started to fade much sooner, meaning that she was moving away from where Kirkwall was. If her calculations were correct, one of the mirrors to the right, once led to the Brecilian Forest, and the mirrors opposite to her starting one led somewhere around Orlais and the Anderfels instead. 

Still, Morrigan felt frustrated. Figuring that out would not help if she wasn’t able to find the way to unlock another of the Eluvians. Merrill had helped her, and Merrill had power, but now, she had to rely on herself alone. All she had was her magic, and she didn’t even have that tome at her disposal.

_Never underestimate the power running in your veins, girl._

Her mother, Morrigan was sure, hadn’t planned for her to be trapped in the Crossroads. Yes, she had power, but was that power enough for her to unlock another way? She blinked, and an image appeared in her head. The image of Mother standing on the other side of the Eluvian, waiting for her to walk through it and ready to ask for her grandchildren. Morrigan’s lips turned into a thin line. No. There had to be another way.

One of the children cooed, breaking the silence. Forgetting about her mother in the matter of a moment, Morrigan hurried to her children’s side. The babies were still sleeping, quite peacefully, too. She ran a finger along their tiny faces, in a soft caress.

_It is power running in those veins._

Scared, even disgusted by her own thought, Morrigan gasped. Her own mother would certainly consider a child housing Urthemiel’s soul and the daughter of a Grey Warden a source of power. Not her. Not Morrigan. She would not be like Flemeth, she would not use her own children to get out of the mess she had put them into.

What if she alone wasn’t powerful enough? 

Would there really be any other choice?

**_§§§_ **

Several hours later, Morrigan was at a loss. She had exposed several Eluvians to different kinds of magical energy, trying to understand what the artefacts could respond to. The process had been long and strenuous, enough for Morrigan to wish to give up and just walk through the damn Eluvian, even if that meant taking the risk to meet Mother once again. Each time she had been tempted to take that chance, though, the mere sight of her children made her desist. How could she even consider giving them up to Flemeth?

With a weary sigh, the Witch focused on her enigma once again. Only two of the mirrors had proved somehow… affected by her magic. One, according to her calculations, led somewhere nor far from Haven and the Frostback Mountains; the other seemed set somewhere around Rivain.

_If you’re searching for a safe haven, you could consider traveling to Rivain. There, even Circle mages are properly treated and enjoy a good amount of freedom._

Isabela’s advice came to her mind all of a sudden. The Rivaini woman had proved an enigma, someone different from any other person Morrigan had met before, but not once had Isabela betrayed her. No doubt she was afraid that Morrigan could reveal her secret to the wrong person, still, the Rivaini had stopped her from murdering her children in her womb merely out of compassion. Perhaps, she could be trusted in regards to her next destination, too. After all, what she needed was indeed a safe haven, where to catch her breath and outline a new, more sound plan.

Having made up her mind, Morrigan walked in front of the chosen Eluvian. Placing one hand on the glass, she called upon her magic, shaping its core enough to produce spiritual energy, but not enough to actually call an actual spell upon. Like the first time she had attempted contact with the artifact, Morrigan felt its surface… ripple, like water. Now, all that was left was to find, and use, another source of power. 

A swish prompted her to look back.

Morrigan turned, only to meet Valena’s green eyes with hers. Behind her, Kieran was crawling towards her as well. 

“Sweety,” Morrigan began, kneeling down on the terrain, “mama’s doing something dangerous. Stay—“

Even before she had finished her sentence, Valena sneaked behind her feet and poked the Eluvian with her a little finger. Under her touch, the dark surface lightened up—only to darken again when the curious child broke the contact. 

Morrigan turned to look at Kieran. She almost waited for him to imitate his sister as he was used to, but this time, he merely remained still and distant. 

If her spirit magic had the power to make the Eluvian malleable, and Valena’s touch could give life to the glass, it meant its origin was indeed elven. And if she and her daughter could put their forces together, could that be enough to open the passage? Or, at least, to open a chink enough for them to step through?

Morrigan stared at her daughter. What if, instead, she was all wrong? What if the Eluvian hurt Valena? The child looked calm and quiet, but she could merely be unaware of the danger. 

The ugly truth was that they didn’t have a choice. The attempt had to be done—the alternative was to die of thirst and hunger in the Crossroads, or face that beastly guardian once again. 

“Give me your hand, Valena,” Morrigan whispered as she held her daughter’s hand in her own. While she was trembling, the child was completely calm. Once their hands were intertwined, Morrigan neared the surface of the Eluvian. The more their hands got closer to the surface, the more the Eluvian seemed to grow tepid—like a living creature. 

 

Doubt took reign of her mind once again as she and Valena were about to actually touch the surface. Was it right to use her own child to perform something very similar to a spell? 

With a soft cry of excitement, Valena brushed the mirror and broke the standstill. Under their touch, the surface shone and rippled at the same time. Her heart in her throat, Morrigan struggled to balance her power with the energy Valena was releasing. Her daughter’s spontaneous gesture had allowed her to unveil the key to the passage, but balancing such a spontaneous source of energy was another matter entirely. The surface kept rippling, but the waves were uneven, and the light was far from unvarying. 

The moment she perceived a touch on her arm, Morrigan almost jumped. Only her concentration allowed her to not let go of Valena’s hand. She turned, finding herself eye to eye with a wide-eyed Kieran. And in the same, exact moment she noticed how her spirit magic and Valena’s energy had finally balanced… at least enough to grant an opening. 

The Eluvian was ready to welcome them. She had done it. 

_They_ had done it.


	24. Shattered childhood dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satinalia has come, but the festivity does not bring peace to Leliana at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I apologize for being so late in updating. Christmas, the New Year etcetera have sucked my time away.
> 
> Anyway—this is the last chapter before moving on to year 33. As my affectionate readers know, each chapter is usually written by one POV. This time, one tiny section of the chapter shifts to Adrian's perspective.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy! As always, don't be shy and let me know what you think. Concrit is always welcome.

**_Dragon 32, Umbralis_ **

 

A balm for any wound: that was what Satinalia had always been to Leliana. Oisine, her mother, had taught her that Satinalia was the perfect time of the year to truly be altruistic and care about what neighbors wanted. Even though she was just a servant, she had always offered her daughter the gift she desired, or at least the closest she could afford. After Oisine’s death, Lady Cecile had taken her under her wing and almost spoiled her in an attempt to chase away her protégé’s melancholy. And she had succeeded—by offering the young Leliana romantic stories, gallant heroes to yearn for, and something to believe in, even if that something was only fictional stories. Each Satinalia, Leliana had tried to look into her loved ones' hearts and offer them what could make them happy, like Cecile had done with her. 

Then, she had met Marjolaine. Her gentle soul had been attracted by attracted to her lively, outgoing attitude like a moth to the flame, and made her wish to actually try and live the romantic fantasies Cecile had fed her. What a bitter surprise, to find out that all Marjolaine’s heart longed for was power and control over whoever was fool enough to gravitate around her. That what she wanted, Leliana couldn’t give her after all, and even worse, Marjolaine didn’t really want anything from her, except her being useful. That blow, Leliana thought, had killed her desire to offer happiness to anyone, convinced that Satinalia was nothing but a masquerade. 

Unknowingly, step after step, the first of those being her offering her help without asking anything in return, had made her believe once again. Not only in the Maker, but in those around her too. Without Dorothea‘s guiding hand, she would not have taken a second look at Adrian—without her help, she would never have seen in him the hero Thedas needed, and a man worthy of her trust and love. Trusting someone, anyone, or even anyone’s intentions, would have been impossible for her. Once again, Leliana had begun to enjoy Satinalia, and feel its spirit. 

And now… 

Was she destined, Leliana wondered as she nibbled at her lemon cake, to be stripped of her faith in the Maker’s creatures? 

How was she supposed to relax after she had almost lost her head during the Warden Constable's interrogation?

_“I’m told you’re a smart one, Lady Leliana. Quick with your bow, and with your eye, too. A rare trait in those of the Chantry.”_

_“I’ll help the best I can, Warden-Constable Bolton.”_

_“War is a rough business, I know. It doesn’t matter how many times you killed, it is never easy. Still, I must ask you to search your memory. For instance, has any of your companions ever looked… anxious to know more about the Wardens?”_

_“None did. Perhaps—“_

_“Please continue, Lady Leliana.”_

_“I will, but I don’t think you’ll find what I’m about to say of any interest. What I meant to say, is merely that Enchanter Wynne was a moral guide to the Wardens. She liked to make sure that they were not distracted by lesser thoughts than saving the world.”_

_“It is peculiar that Warden-Commander Mahariel and the deserter, Alistair, needed that kind of guidance. The Wardens are closer to a military order than any Circle is.”_

_“She—she disapproved of my relationship with the Commander, Warden-Constable. She feared he might have been distracted by the affection he felt towards me.”_

_“I have no interest in dwelling further in private matters. And to not incur such a misunderstanding again, I will rephrase my question: have any of the Heroes of the Fifth Blight ever asked questions about how, physically, the Joining affects a recruit’s body?”_

_“No, Warden-Constable. That never happened. We were too busy fighting for our own life.”_

Leliana shivered. She still remembered her embarrassment, in discussing her relationship with a complete stranger—but even more, she still felt guilty for having involved Wynne in such a dire matter. Had she not derailed the Warden Constable’s attention by exposing her personal life and assuring him that Wynne’s interest towards the Order was no other than “moral”, he might have decided to go after her. He could still. And if he did, he might have decided that Wynne was the culprit, after all, the one mage who had ensured Loghain’s survival. The Order didn’t have a clue, after all. No one had shown friendship or appreciation towards the former General, as she herself had told Constable Bolton. And for some reason, he was convinced that magic was involved.

_“Let’s speak about the other mage. The Witch of the Wilds.”_

_“What of her?”_

_“Do you know so much, that you feel the need to ask me what I wish for you to tell me, specifically? Were you friends with her?”_

_“I only wish to not waste your time, Constable Bolton.”_

_“What is that supposed to mean?”_

_“The Witch of the Wilds was not my friend. No one was her friend. She never let anyone get close to her, and she did absolutely nothing to bond with us.”_

_“Why, then, do you think she tagged along?”_

_“Not even she would benefit from a world fallen prey to the darkspawn, I suppose.”_

Not even the promise made to Adrian had prevented her from showing her hatred towards Morrigan. And for a moment, Leliana had been afraid that the Constable would try to appeal to that hatred to have her reveal more. Apparently, though, Morrigan wasn’t really a suspect, or the Constable had decided that she would be of no help, regarding that matter.

Warden-Constable Bolton had left the morning after, stone-faced and neutral. Adrian hadn’t been arrested, which probably meant the dwarf hadn’t spilled anything… compromising. Agonizing over the interrogation was no use, now. Shaking her head, she attempted to banish the thought.

Standing by the dining table, the only person now that the dinner was over, Leliana looked at the men and women who had gathered in Vigil’s Keep to celebrate Satinalia. Lord Heddelbrek was conversing with Lady Megana, the noblewoman, rumor had it, he was about to officially court. Ser Derren was discussing with Teyrn Cousland how his land was growing more and more prosperous now that Lady Liza Packton’s grip had been shattered. Several other nobles, the ones who the Teyrn had invited as his entourage, were mingling with Amaranthine’s nobility and Amaranthine’s Wardens. Only Justice stood on the sidelines. On any other occasion, Leliana would have played her usual game, where she examined the guests and their behavior, and tried to find out the secrets hidden in the tiniest details, but today she was far too tired and dejected. Even the prospect of the exchange of gifts was tiring. Adrian was sitting at her side, but he could as well have been miles away—ever since his request regarding Morrigan, she had found herself unable to return his affection. Many times he had tried to beg forgiveness, to ask for a second chance, and even though she had never actually left him, she had been unable to forgive him. Now, they lived in a sort of stasis. 

And to make matters worse, Anora had chosen to visit Amaranthine on the occasion of Satinalia. In fact, she had suggested that Amaranthine, given how quickly it was recovering after the battle against the Mother, was the perfect place to celebrate the festivity, as Amaranthine was the symbol of hope, and that Highever‘s nobles were to join the Arl of Amaranthine for the holiday. 

In that exact moment, she was sitting on the throne Adrian had ordered the best craftsmen of Amaranthine to produce, a smile on her thin face, a golden dress clinging to her slender figure. A gracious nod for one Lord, a smile for another, Anora was considered a gentle monarch, harsh from time to time, but only to those who wronged her kingdom and her people. 

If only they knew that their gracious Queen was there to torment her and make clear to her that their pact was still valid. It was even possible that the Queen would interrogate her, later, since she had failed in feeding her the kind of precise information she wanted. 

Leliana could not let anyone know, of course, least of all the nobles. The Queen would have her imprisoned, then would make Adrian pay for her boldness. 

As she saw one of the servants approaching, she abandoned those dark thoughts. To everyone's eyes, it was still Satinalia—and she was supposed to be joyous. 

The servant knelt by Adrian's side, whispering softly enough that she barely heard him. 

“My Lord, there's someone at the gates. A man. He says he's your friend, and currently the best gift you could ever get for Satinalia.”

Adrian's brow furrowed. He was clearly tempted to look at her, even to ask for her opinion, but, she read it clearly on his face, both their fights and the need to appear confident in front of the whole court and the Queen, prevented him from doing so. He had to take a decision by himself

“His accent is foreign, My Lord. He also asked me to tell you...” the servant hesitated, an embarrassed expression on his face, “... that even though you didn't bind him when you first met, you can do that now. As a special Satinalia gift.”

As Adrian heard those words, his face lit up. Exactly in the same moment, a smile blossomed on Leliana's lips. There was only one person who would be daring enough to address the Arl of Amaranthine in such a manner. And she was grateful beyond measure to have him around.

Without a moment of esitation, Adrian moved towards the gates together with Varel and one guard. 

The Queen chose that moment to turn towards Leliana. Her expression remained neutral, but Leliana had little doubt: that look was a promise. The promise of a future interrogation. 

A few moments later, a laugh echoed. A laugh she knew pretty well, and had, in fact, hoped to hear very, very soon: Zevran's laugh. 

Leliana sighed in relief. Now that Zevran was by Adrian's side, perhaps she could break free from Anora's shackles.

**_§§§_ **

Adrian had absolutely no idea why Zevran had decided to travel to Amaranthine. All he knew was that his old friend’s timing was perfect. Between the stressful visit of the Warden-Constable and the tense relationship with Leliana, all he could rely on were his Wardens. But even they could not be trusted with the whole turmoil in his soul. The mere fact that he was to act as a strong leader prevented him from showing each and every weakness troubling him to them. For the first time, Adrian wondered if Keeper Marethari had felt the burden of command as such. Now, though, he could put aside his worries, even if only for a little while.

Followed by several pairs of eyes, he led Zevran to the buffet. 

“Quite the improvement, from the stew we used to eat during the Blight, right?” Zevran asked with a grin.

Alistair. Alistair used to cook the stew, that absolutely horrible stew. Despite the guilt he still felt due to Alistair’s exile, for once Adrian was able to smile back. “You bet. Much has changed since.”

Biting into a tuna tart, Zevran surveyed the crowd. “Indeed. Once, Fereldan nobles wanted your head on a pike, and now you’re one of them. You are longer the only Warden in a land plagued by war. And,” he added, with a bit of mischief, “you have one lady by your side.”

Adrian’s smile died on his lips all of a sudden. To keep the mask of the strong ruler was so tiring, that now, in front of his friend, he couldn’t stop himself from showing how he truly felt. Zevran was right by many accounts—and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the change. 

“Ehy, you can still tie me up, you know? The offer still stands. Anything to wash that scowl away.”

To whoever could be listening, the Antivan was truly flirting. But Adrian perceived that joking note in his voice, the one, in time, that had allowed him to distinguish his snarky remarks from sincere admissions. And there was sincere friendship and worry, in his closing words. Until then, Adrian had not realized how he had missed that combination of warmth and humor—even Velanna, who was for him the closest to a friend, lacked in the humor compartment, and Nate’s jokes were often dry and permeated with the bitterness he hadn’t overcome yet. “I might take you up on the offer, if needed,” Adrian joked in response. He asked, then, in a more serious tone, “What brought you to Amaranthine, Zev? Don’t get me wrong, your arrival is a blessing. I hope, though, your presence does not mean that the Crows are out to get me.”

Zevran shook his head. “No Crow is after you. They are, after all, too busy hunting me. And we all know I’m fabulous,” he stretched out his arms, “so I’m keeping them busy enough. Now they’re half the threat they were, and if everything goes as I planned… quite soon, they won’t be a threat at all.”

“It looks like letting go of war is not easy, once one has fought. Isn’t that right?” Adrian whispered. 

In response, Zevran handed him a chalice of cider. “We’re not at war right now, at least. And after what happened in Amaranthine, it’s a relief. Let’s drink to peace, as volatile as it may be.”

Adrian’s chalice clinked against Zevran’s. He took a sip of cider, his eyes on his Wardens. Nate and Velanna, side by side, drinking and smiling; Sigrun, her nose in a book, even during a feast; Justice, tall and stern. And Oghren, who was marching towards them. Lastly, he looked at Leliana. She seemed as melancholy as she was the day he had asked her to lie for Morrigan’s sake. Perhaps, his leaving could be a blessing for her. And soon he would have to, as he was morally bound to hunt the Architect. 

“I may need to leave for some time, my friend. You will protect her in my stead, won’t you?” Adrian murmured. 

Before Zevran could add anything, or reply in any manner, the hall grew silent. Queen Anora was now standing, her eyes on the guests. 

“The Blight,” Anora began, her hands joined on her abdomen, “feels like a bad dream to some, now. Some of us have fought against the darkspawn, the Warden-Commander and my honorable father amongst them, and too many have died in that war. In the end, Ferelden has fought back and stood victorious. Months later, after the Archdemon’s defeat, the darkspawn attacked our dear Amaranthine. Despite the brutality of that dirty race, our dear Amaranthine has emerged victorious. And Ferelden with it.” 

The Queen paused. Adrian, his drink in hand, waited for her to continue her speech. After several months as a ruler, Adrian had to admit that sometimes speeches were somewhat necessary. 

“Our duty, now, is to seek peace actively. If another Blight should rise, we must be ready. Ready to cooperate with other countries, even the ones we once marked as enemies. It is my duty, as ruler of Ferelden, to do my part in seeking peace. And to prove everyone that my intentions are pure and adamant, Orlais will be my first destination.” She slightly raised her voice. “Ferelden, Orlais, and several other countries of Thedas will unite under the Chantry’s banner. If the darkspawn should strike again, it will find a united front, empowered by the Maker’s hand!”

The crowd cheered Ferelden’s Queen, and Adrian cheered too. Deep inside, though, he knew what was truly happening. The fact that the elves and the mages had actively fought, and bled, to stop the Blight was being forsaken and neglected.

**_§§§_ **

It wasn’t until after midnight that the guests, some half-drunk and some genuinely tired, turned in. The Queen had returned to her chambers after her speech, something Leliana was grateful for. Before taking her leave, though, she had whispered a few effective words to Leliana.

Keep working. I want the missing information.

Anora had not needed to specify which information she was talking about—she wanted to know where Adrian had gone during his absence. A piece of knowledge Leliana did not possess. 

Now, she was waiting in the library, hidden in a dark corner not reached by the moonlight just in case someone passed. Adrian would not come seeking her, not after their last fight. She did not want to be seen by anyone. What she had to tell Zevran, and Zevran to her, was for their ears only. 

After what seemed an eternity, Leliana heard steps. Casual steps, enough to make her doubt the man entering the library was her friend. That was, until he looked through the window. 

“What kept you?” Leliana asked, in a nervous whisper. 

“Adrian is rather distraught. Would you have me leave him alone with his demons?” was his reply. 

Shaking her head, she gestured him to come closer. In her hands she held a piece of paper that she handed him once he complied. Then, she waited for him to read how Adrian’s life was in danger, and how he needed their help. And Zevran read it all, without getting agitated. To anyone who could saw him, he appeared like a man reading a poem, or a letter perhaps, leaned against the window. Only in the tremble of his hands, Leliana read his discomfort. 

Finally, he raised his eyes to meet hers. 

“Quite the sly minx. But I believe I can be of help,” he murmured. Then, slipping the paper into his pocket, he continued, “Do you remember that box we delivered in Denerim? The box without a name, the door where we didn’t saw the face of whoever retrieved it?”

Leliana nodded. 

“We met the Friends of Red Jenny. They are… somehow like the Crows. More moral, less bloody, and, in several ways, kinder. They’re the kind of people who can help a noble like him. One who’d rather not be one, if given the choice.”

“I trust your judgment,” she replied, softly. 

Zevran started walking away, only to stop halfway and enter one of the library’s corridors formed by shelves. He moved, stopping only when he was by her side.

“Did you know he plans to leave for a time? Maybe soon?”

Leliana’s heart sank. Was he that hurt, that defeated to wish to leave her side?

“Where to? When? Why?” she inquired, urgently. 

“I don’t know,” Zevran admitted. “I had no time to ask. He asked of me to protect you in his absence, too. Perhaps, you should wait for him to tell you.”

“Like he did last time?” she objected, the bitter taste of betrayal in her mouth. As much as she tried to place value in his words, as much as she tried to believe that Adrian meant it, when he said he had changed, she still felt betrayed. 

Zevran remained silent, crossing his arms. As if to give her the necessary time to give the right answer. 

“Fine. I will wait. For a time, at least,” Leliana conceded. “However… I need to know where he went when I wasn’t in Amaranthine. You know already he won’t tell me. And you know that I’d leave the matter to go, if I didn’t fear for his life.”

“On one condition,” Zevran agreed. His harsh tone showed how much he disapproved of that treachery. “If it is something that brings too much advantage to the Queen, we lie to her. A convincing enough lie, of course.”

Lying to the Queen, Leliana had found out, was dangerous. Still, denying her the information she wanted was even more dangerous. “Deal,” she finally said.


	25. A year of past shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian goes to hunt the Architect, as he promised to do several months ago. What, and who, he'll find and meet, though, is a completely different matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recently I feel like the white rabbit when it comes to writing. Meaning, I am always _latelatelate_ in updating, and I’m deeply sorry for this.  
>  I should be quicker now, but I doubt I’ll ever be able to post each week like other writers. Which means that even if sometimes it may take me a while to update, don’t worry: I didn’t abandon the story. 
> 
> The next three chapters will cover the whole year 33. So that next it will be possible to move on to the more eventful year 34. I hope you’ll enjoy them!

**_Dragon 33, Bloomingtide_ **

When Satinalia was over, and Amaranthine’s noble guests traveled back to their castles, Vigil’s Keep sank back into its quiet routine. Once, Adrian had considered Vigil’s Keep chaotic, an enigma to rule—now that he had experienced the first noble-like festivities, he was aware of how stressful life at court could be. And he was grateful for small mercies, like not living in Denerim.  
In the months following the Satinalia celebrations, Adrian came to appreciate his position as Arl more than he had before. Amaranthine, having endured first the Blight, and then the battle against the Mother’s armies, needed care more than most areas. During the Blight, he had been too focused on the loss of his clan and his life as a Dalish elf to really understand on how the people around him were suffering. Yes, he had helped countless farmers and paupers, if only to enjoy the next day without feeling hunger pangs, but deep inside his soul had been trapped in the Brecilian forest. Now, he was becoming more and more conscious of how Amaranthine’s people needed their Arl, and truthfully he was starting to wonder if taking care of his subjects wasn’t something similar to what a Keeper did with a Dalish clan. Ashalle would laugh, or maybe look at him in shock, if she heard that thought. And even more, if she knew that the ones leading him to that awareness were humans. Humans like Varel, his Seneschal, the one who presented him with the issues to take care of and offered his respectful advice; like Fergus Cousland, who had showed him how oppression was the same plague amongst humans and elves; like Nate, a man who may have been considered merely an enemy by a human lord, and had turned into his best friend instead; like Leliana, whose gentle hand had led him away from prejudice and pride, even when he had been blind to her words.

So much she had done for him, and yet he was ungrateful. There, sitting in the Commander’s rooms—his rooms, he still had trouble considering them ‘his’ from time to time—Adrian thought back to the Constable’s interrogation, and what he had asked of Leliana, for the thousandth time. He knew he had not done right by her, in pleading for her to spare Morrigan and her sons the Wardens’ questions. He knew that he should have taken care of it by himself, without involving her. He was aware how his request could look, in her eyes. He had taken every care in reassuring Leliana that she was the only woman on his mind, but the truth was that he wasn’t sure of being able to offer her the love and respect she deserved, not anymore. Too much had happened in the past—in their past—for him to completely let go of it. Too many questions were unanswered, and too many of those were of great importance to him. Adrian wanted Leliana’s happiness, but he was starting to think he wasn’t the one destined to offer her that. Perhaps he ought to let her go free, before their relationship turned into a bond of convenience. Or even worse, something they both clung to in fear of solitude. 

A decisive knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. And before he could invite whoever was on the other side of the door to enter, it opened, revealing Zevran’s laid-back smile. Adrian smiled back at his friend—another of Leliana’s gifts, in a way. It had been her idea, he learned, to invite him for Satinalia. And for some reason, Zevran had decided to remain around. A decision Adrian was grateful for, as he had missed his friend.

“You missed lunch, my friend. Take care, or you will end up eating the papers on your desk,” Zevran said, closing the door behind him and taking a seat in front of him.  
“Would that be much different from Sten’s soup?” Adrian joked lightly.  
“Point taken. Whatever.” He shrugged. “Are you coming to the dining hall? I’m sure your paperwork can wait.”  
Adrian shook his head. “I’m not hungry, Zev. And I have work to do. Merchants to contact, nobles to reply to. Peace can be more tiring than war, apparently. Who could have guessed?”  
“Come training, then. Just you and me,” Zevran proposed, standing already. “Like old times. Well, except that there’s no darkspawn to ambush us.”  
Training. How long had he neglected training, Adrian wondered? Sure, he was the Arl now and he had to handle state affairs, but he was also, in the people’s eyes, the hero who had saved Amaranthine. A lord of war, in a sense. “You got yourself a deal, my friend.”

* * *

At first, their training session with daggers had been relaxed, quiet. Neither of them seemed to have a need to vent. And truthfully, once Adrian would definitely have taken out on his sparring partner whatever was on his mind. Everything went fine as long as he and Zev warmed up. When their sparring grew faster, more real combat-like, however, Adrian began to feel frustrated—Zevran was always one step ahead of him, he always seemed to be able to predict where his next lunge would aim. Deep down, Adrian knew that while he had only taken part in the battle against the Mother, Zev had practically fought the Crows every day since the end of the Blight. Nonetheless, soon Adrian lost focus. His attacks became clumsy, his steps guided by his rage rather than the instant reasoning needed to land a blow. 

And finally, Zevran stepped backward and sheathed his daggers. He widened his arms. “Whatever you need to get out of your system, you can take it out on me. That’s what a friend’s for. Just… without knives, hm?” Weirdly enough, there was no smirk on his face. The assassin was absolutely serious. 

Adrian took a deep breath, and only then did he realize how weary he was. As always, Zev was right—the training had indeed fueled his frustration, a frustration he desperately needed to deal with. “Am I that transparent?“ Adrian asked, sheathing his daggers as well. 

Zevran raised a brow. “I’ve seen you react like that a thousand times. Fighting has always been part of your nature, my friend. There’s always been a dormant rage inside you, the kind of rage that perhaps never goes away and a man can only keep at bay. Maybe that’s a Dalish heritage, nourished by centuries of sorrow and lost pride. Whatever it is, you’ve always dealt with it through combat.”

Listening in silence, Adrian closed his eyes. So many times, during the Blight, he had felt robbed of his life. Later, when he had been named Warden Commander, he had felt robbed of his right to choose for himself. No matter what he achieved, no matter who he had at his side, the anger inside him never abandoned him. Leliana and his friends were barely a balm—one he needed to not drown in his own negativity, nonetheless. “You’re right,” he whispered, before sitting down on the nearest bench in the courtyard. Around him, dusk was winning the day over and shadows were getting longer.  
For several moments, he remained silent, quiet. Oddly enough, merely admitting that had calmed him enough to think clearly. Meeting Morrigan again had been one step towards inner peace, accepting his role as Warden Commander another. And yet, he couldn’t completely keep the past at bay. 

“What is it? Do you miss your people?” Zevran asked quietly. “You could contact them, I think. It would not be impossible to find out where they’re camped, in which area at least. The lovely Velanna could—“

“They’re not my concern,” Adrian replied, interrupting his friend. It was true, they were not, but he had no wish to speak about clan Mahariel now. It would only enhance his frustration. 

“I am at a loss, then. You may need to spell it out, because if that’s not what troubles you…” Zevran shook his head. “I haven’t seen you since the Blight. And even though these months have been enough for me to understand how something’s wrong, how you’re not at peace, I can’t read minds. You seem quite comfortable as an Arl now. I don’t know, however, what happened during my absence, and if it is related to what plagues you, as I said, you may need to spell it out.”

Share the burden. Seek advice. That was something he desperately longed for, but wasn’t allowed to. He could trust Nate… but unlike Zevran, he hadn’t experienced the Blight. Leliana, the one who had always been by his side, couldn’t be made privy to that dilemma.  
As he looked at Zevran, Adrian felt even more guilty. This chance to share the burden was a gift from her, too. “I feel guilty even as I look at you,” he admitted, the words leaving his mouth before he could think. 

Zevran didn’t breathe a single word. He merely waited for him to organize his thoughts and find the right words. 

“You are here thanks to her. She—she has been at my side since the beginning. Since I had to leave my clan. She’s been there, lending me her experience and offering me her love, as I have learnt to act as an Arl. She’s family, Zev. And I repaid her with deceit and disrespect.”  
Once he started, confessing the rest of his sins was stunningly easy. Adrian revealed to Zevran everything he had done in a flood of words. First, he disclosed to his friend Morrigan’s proposal before the Battle of Denerim, then he confessed how he had gone after Morrigan, following her all over Ferelden, because he was sure those children were his sons; finally, how he had asked Leliana to lie to the Constable for the sake of Morrigan. 

“We still—we still share a room, we act like a couple, but… there is something, a veil, a barrier between us. When I look at her, I see her staring… somewhere, a melancholic expression on her face. She’s unhappy, Zev, and she doesn’t deserve that. She doesn’t deserve me. I—” Adrian took a deep breath, again, passing a hand on his face, “I really want her to be happy. To smile, to laugh, to give her the family she dreams of. I just can’t. Our ties with the past, instead of making us stronger, are destroying us. I am not what she needs.”

“Why?” Zevran inquired. All the time, he had listened without asking any question, without interrupting him. 

Adrian turned to look at his friend. Despite the seriousness of their exchange, he couldn’t help thinking that it was perhaps the longest time that Zevran Aranai had remained serious. “’Why’ what?”

“Why did you go after the Witch? Why did you ask Leliana to protect her? You said you knew you’d hurt her.” Far from being accusing, his tone was still calm. 

“I told you. I thought the children were mine, and I didn’t want the Wardens to cage her and interrogate her to find out about the rite.” When Adrian saw Zevran’s face darken, he understood how that answer wasn’t enough for his taste. 

“If that’s the whole truth, it means that somehow all of this mattered to you more than Leliana’s well-being. Unless you planned to keep her in the dark about it… I’m not surprised that you can’t let go of the past.” Once again, his friend was not judging him. And yet, there was something close to disapproval in his voice. 

Despite the situation, Adrian smiled. That smile was bitter, but it was still a smile. “Anyone would consider me mad, to take moral lessons from an Antivan Crow. Nonetheless, I can’t deny what you say.” Then, he asked, “Do you plan to stay in Amaranthine, my friend?”

Zevran stood, facing Adrian without hostility. “As long as I can. But if the Crows should ever come searching for me here, I’ll have to leave. Why are you asking?”

“Because I’ll have to leave soon. The Wardens have an enemy, and I vowed to hunt him… hunt it down.” 

 

**_Dragon 33, Solace_ **

Entering the Deep Roads with women was madness. Everyone who possessed enough knowledge about the darkspawn race knew that. The taint probably made the Wardens immune, or at least resistant to the process of creating a broodmother, but no one had ever found a true proof. Thus, Adrian wasn’t willing to assume that the female Wardens were safe. He had met the Mother and was well aware that Velanna or Sigrun could be captured and become one of those monstrosities—sadly, there had been no convincing them to remain at Vigil’s Keep. When he had talked to Sigrun, the dwarf had calmly asked him if, considering he was going to search the Maker knew which section of the Deep Roads, he could really afford to travel without a member of the Legion of the Dead, the only army who traveled deep enough in the bowels of the earth for him to even hope to be successful. And he did need her, despite the danger.  
As for Velanna, at the mere mention of being left behind, she had bristled. When he had reminded her that the mission’s goal was to find and bring back some darkspawn blood for Avernus to produce some way to track down the Architect, and that he wouldn’t begin that hunt right away, she had threatened to follow him in secret if he had dared to not allow her to make her part in finding Seranni. Did he really want, she had asked, to be responsible for her getting lost alone in the Deep Roads and be turned into one of the Mothers? Even now that they had spent several days underground, Velanna still looked annoyed.

And to tell the truth, he was grateful the two women were accompanying him. Signrun’s stone sense had proved invaluable, and Velanna’s presence reminded him that if he died, he would die side by side with a friend. Adrian had taken the possibility into account, which was why he had named Nathaniel ad interim Arl of Amaranthine and told Leliana goodbye—a goodbye she had reacted to with a weird detachment. Adrian shook his head. He could not afford to think about her now, he had to keep focused on perceiving the darkspawn. All he needed was some vials of blood, and once he obtained them he could walk back to Kal’Hirol, and to Amaranthine. If Anders and Justice hadn’t left Amaranthine so abruptly, he’d have asked them both to come too—but sadly, the two of them had both vanished after the battle of Amaranthine. Anders’ disappearance had not surprised him that much, but Justice had committed to the Wardens’ cause enough to have him wonder if somehow the Fade had not reclaimed the spirit of Justice against his own will.

As he noticed Sigrun stopping and examining the map, he walked to her. 

“Something’s wrong, Sigrun?” Adrian asked the dwarf.

Sigrun was studying the map, frowning. Velanna, by her side, kept her arms crossed and her eyes on the tunnel. “In a sense, Commander. We… need to make a choice,” she replied. 

Her tone didn’t promise anything pleasant. Adrian merely nodded and gestured for her to explain herself. 

“Well, this is Kal’Harol,” she said, pointing her finger on the red dot on the map, “where we entered the Deep Roads. Now, we are at a crossroad—we can either proceed north, where I definitely sense darkspawn, or we can turn around and go south. Going south would be the safer choice, considering that my Legion companions and I always traveled in Ferelden. And you know that going south we’d near Orzammar, Kul Baras thaig, the exit near the Circle Tower or, at worst, Valammar, in the Hinterlands. But… I don’t sense anything south.”

Adrian looked north. He focused on his heartbeat, on the blood running in his veins, and he felt it too. There was definitely something tainted that way. “If we can sense them, they must not be that far. Is there any reason why we shouldn’t take this chance to finish our mission?”

“I agree with Adrian. Let’s just go and give this a try. It is unlikely for us to lose the way back, given how many maps we have at our disposal and your stone sense. Besides, we’ve got food and water enough to last down here for more than two months,” Velanna interjected. She seemed impatient to resume walking, and Adrian wondered if her desire to find her sister wouldn’t end up making her careless.

Sigrun looked uncomfortable. “As a member of the Legion, I am already dead and all, so maybe I shouldn’t worry about this that much, but… you two never celebrated your funeral, so you should know. If we proceed north, we could eventually enter Revann thaig. That thaig has never been reclaimed by the dwarves, and it is said…” The Legion warrior looked around, as if she was waiting to see a ghost or something similar. Her voice turned to a whisper. “It is said that several ages ago an explorer, Faruma Helmi, found a strange scrawling on a wall there, mentioning a creature called The Profane that supposedly lived in the thaig. No one knows what that creature is.”

Adrian and Velanna exchanged a look. She had been the apprentice of a Keeper, and he had listened to Merrill’s tales more than once. Amongst the Dalish there were legends of unknown, dangerous creatures crawling in the most desolate places. Still, he knew he could not back down. He had to do whatever was needed to find the Architect. 

“We will proceed. Should we ever reach Revann thaig, we’ll consider carefully what to do. After all, the darkspawn we’re sensing could be miles away from it,” Adrian decided. 

Velanna offered him a quick, thankful smile. Perhaps she was starting to soften.

* * *

As Adrian had supposed, the darkspawn group they had sensed at the border of Kal’Hirol was not far. Even better, it had turned out those were talking darkspawn, the kind of darkspawn they were searching for. On the not-so-bright-side, sadly, the group was numerous enough to force him, Sigrun, and Velanna to stay distant enough for them to not sense them back. Given the deal he had made with the Architect, he doubted they would attack three Wardens—but Adrian didn’t mean for the darkspawn to ever come to know of their presence. His plan was to ambush one of the creatures, collect its blood and maybe its head, then walk back to Kal’Hirol’s entrance. Unfortunately, the darkspawn group they were following was not only numerous but well-armed too. All in all, they looked like a contingent sent to war. 

To fight who or what, Adrian asked himself one night that he was on guard duty?

A sudden sound interrupted his thoughts. He turned immediately towards the cavern entrance, ready to unsheathe his daggers and wake up his companions. He hadn’t sensed anything come near them, but…

“Do not be alarmed. It is only I.”

It took him one split second to recognize Velanna’s voice. Sighing in relief, he looked at her sitting by his side. The faint light didn’t do justice to her fine face—she was awfully pale, and her weariness didn’t suit her. He wondered how he himself looked. After all, elves were not meant to live, or pass too much time, underground. 

“It is about time I take cover, isn’t it?” she inquired. 

“Indeed.”

Adrian wanted to ask her if she was fine, if she was just tired or the Deep Roads were making her sick. He knew, though, that if he had implied that she was somehow weak she would get upset. So, just in case she was in pain, he opted for reassuring her indirectly. “We could be done any day now, you know? All we need is the right occasion to strike. Then, we will head back.”

“I know. The more we proceed, the stronger the darkspawn presence is. As if… as if there were more ahead.” Velanna sighed. “Maybe we’ll be lucky and we’ll meet the Architect himself. And Seranni. I’d give anything just to know that she is alright.”

“I suppose that if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have threatened to follow me against my orders,” Adrian replied. He was completely serious, and the topic was far from funny. 

Nevertheless, Velanna let out a small laugh. “You should have seen the look on your face when I said that. You were really scared that I could really do it.”

If someone else had joked about her own death in such a way, Adrian would have been offended. But she was Velanna. She had accepted to be dead to her clan long ago, and he suspected that she didn’t care much for her own safety. Not enough. “I would never have forgiven myself, Velanna. I would have been haunted by the image of you getting lost in some tunnel, only to die alone. I wish… you cared more for yourself. You are our sister, lethallan, and we are by your side. Nate… is fond of you. We’ll care for you in your stead, if you won’t.”

At first, Velanna seemed to answer with silence only. After several minutes, she shifted to sit with her back straight. “That’s really wise advice, Adrian. Maybe one day I’ll learn to consider the Wardens, and not only you and Nate, part of… what resembles a clan. I’ll never turn my back on Seranni, though. Not without knowing if she’s dead.” 

Adrian knew her enough to understand that Velanna considered the conversation finished, and he knew better than to pry. Silently, he moved towards his sack and left her to her guard and to her inner thoughts.

* * *

Whereas the Deep Roads were mostly deep in silence, a silence broken only by the guttural sounds emitted by the darkspawn, that day they resounded with battle. Days after his conversation with Velanna, Adrian and the two Wardens accompanying him had crossed the half-ruined bridge leading to Revann thaig. There, the darkspawn presence was stronger than ever, as were the stench and the corruption accompanying it. The three Wardens had camped in a tunnel just after the bridge, and had watched the talking darkspawn sharpening their swords and check their bows. It was impressive how, despite their beastly appearance, those creatures resembled humans, elves, or dwarves. It was also impressive how, it seemed, the Architect was keeping his promise—the Deep Roads were quieter than he had ever seen them, and he was even sending his ‘troops’ to deal with the member of his race not ready to be receptive to his message. 

And now, in front of his eyes, the darkspawn were battling one another. Not being burdened by the ravishing rage boiling in their cousin’s veins, the Architect troops fought intelligently and were quickly gaining the upper hand. For a moment, Adrian wondered if the Architect wasn’t actually doing the Order a favor—what would happen, though, if those darkspawn had decided that they wanted the Deep Roads for themselves?

`The battle was nearly over, Adrian could tell. The last enemy to subside was a powerful Hurlock emissary. No matter his power, he was outnumbered and he would soon fall under the Architect’s soldiers’ attacks. He was bleeding already from a deep gash in his shoulder, and when a genlock attacked him from the side that same gash widened. The emissary growled in pain. Determined to not go down without a fight, the creature conjured a lightning projectile, sending the genlock battling him into the air. The genlock rogue fell down hard several feet away in the middle of the bridge, but still managed to stand. Grinning, the emissary answered by conjuring electricity once again.

The genlock fell, to never walk or breathe again. And under the strength of the lightning, the already fragile bridge broke in two. 

Sigrun, watching in horror as their way out of the thaig smashed, murmured, “We are trapped here. We have no choice but going forward.”

**_Dragon 33, August_ **

Traveling along known paths in the Deep Roads was one thing. Having to find an exit in a thaig that had been the darkspawn’s domain for centuries was another. Yes, they had plenty of food and the means to defend themselves, not to mention that the Architect’s troops were wiping away their ‘unciviled cousins’ ahead of where Adrian, Velanna, and Sigrun were, but the danger of getting lost in Revann thaig had been palpable, real. They might have been forced to ask for help to their ‘darkspawn allies’, but that would have meant explaining to them the reason for their presence. And perhaps, the meaning of the vials of blood Adrian was keeping in his backpack. All in all, the only positive outcome of that disastrous mission was that he had managed to obtain the blood Avernus needed to perform his tracking spell. To collect some blood from one of the fallen had been far too easy. 

Leaving the Deep Roads, however, had been another matter.  
Only Sigrun’s stone sense , luck, and probably some god’s intervention, had allowed them to crawl out of a tight crack in the rock. Adrian had never been more grateful to look at the sky again. He had no idea where they had ended up, but whatever they were was better than the Deep Roads. He took a moment to look around. All around him there were mountains, and the tight path he was standing on led down, towards a rocky valley. Far in the distance, there was a building resembling a ruined fortress. Perhaps by reaching that fortress, they could reach a city, too, and find out how far they were from Amaranthine.

* * *

Protecting his eyes from the shining sun, Adrian looked in front of him once again. He couldn’t doubt anymore. Those exiting the fortress were people. Overall, he couldn’t believe their luck. The more they had progressed down the mountains, the more the territory they were about to enter looked like a wasteland. Meeting people, thus, was really a struck of luck. 

Adrian turned towards Velanna and Sigrun. Velanna’s cheeks, he noticed, were flushing already. “I doubt I could have done it without you two. But, if you’re not offended, I’d rather forget this experience as soon as possible and replace it with better memories.”  
Sigrun’s reply was almost cheerful. “None taken, Commander. I’m growing fond of a sky upon my head myself.”

As they neared the group of people standing not far from that ruined fortress, Adrian could count them. There were four of them in total: a quite tall, blonde young woman holding a staff, a dark-haired man wearing a Templar’s armor, a blonde man holding a staff as well and a quite peculiar elf standing by the woman’s side. His gaze lingered on the elf by the young woman’s side. He was dark-skinned, but Adrian could make out something shiny on his skin. White tattoos, it seemed, shiny as metal. Tattoos were not made of metal though. Soon, the group noticed him too. None of them moved: all four of them waited for the Wardens to approach them, watching them cautiously. The Templar whispered something to the blonde, who shook her head and started moving towards them. That strange elf, he noticed, put his hand on the hilt of his broadsword. He, Velanna, and Sigrun were not the only ones who had fought something, Adrian noticed. There were stains of blood on the blonde’s tunic. 

“Anders!?” Sigrun called out. 

Before Adrian could turn to ask her why she had named their old comrade, Velanna spoke too. “Fenharel’s teeth! It is really him!”

The woman stopped walking, throwing a dubious look at the blond mage of her group. And now, Adrian noticed it too. He was really Anders. Aside from the shock he was displaying, the lines on his face were harder. He seemed somehow older, much less cheerful than Adrian remembered him.

“What is this about, Anders? Who are these people?” the woman asked. She was no doubt a bit tense, but mostly she sounded surprised and even curious to know what was happening. She studied Adrian and his companions with a certain curiosity. “Aren’t those Warden uniforms?” Her stance relaxed slightly. 

Adrian took a step forward. “I’d like to know what is this about, too,” he interjected, “considering how you left Amaranthine without a word.”

“These…” Anders started. And he replied first to his fellow mage. “Yes, these are Wardens, Hawke. This is the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. They were my companions when I stayed in Amaranthine.” Only then did he speak to Adrian. “We both know we didn’t get along much, Commander. And you certainly noticed a Warden’s life was not the right one for me.” 

Not even once, during residence at Amaranthine, had Anders been that serious. Adrian wondered what happened to him. “If you think I’m here to bring you back, you’re gravely mistaken, Anders. I expect you to stand ready should a Blight arise, but I have no intention to drag you back to Amaranthine.”

“No? Such a pity. I’d be glad to be rid of him,” the Templar exclaimed.

“Yes, please, Warden. Take the mage with you,” the tattooed elf added. 

The woman called Hawke turned towards her companions quickly. “Carver, shut it!” she lashed back. Her tone softened a bit when she looked at the elf, her eyes got warmer. “Please, both of you.”

Her tone was harsh and cautionary, as if she was scolding the Templar. Hawke was a mage and walked freely, which was peculiar enough—and that Templar looked as if she had just slapped him. With a few words, she had silenced the person who was supposed to be the one commanding her and the elf. Who were those people? And did Anders really prefer living alongside those people who had no fondness for him? Anders, Adrian noticed, had not interfered at all. If anything, he looked at Hawke with gratitude.

Hawke addressed Adrian once again. A moment ago, she had appeared ready to challenge her companions for Anders’ sake. Now, there was a childlike curiosity in her eyes. “So you are the fabled Hero of Ferelden.” She fell silent, and cocked her head to the side in a pondering pose. 

Most times, people looked at him in awe after having recognized him. Hawke, though, didn’t. Not that she was hostile—but there was definitely some thought running in that brain of hers. “I am. I don’t like that title much, anyway.”

“You don’t like it, hm? I suppose you don’t have a choice in the matter, so…” Hawke continued, half-joking, “what’s the Hero of Ferelden doing outside Ferelden?” She shot him a breezy smile, apparently very satisfied without her quip. 

“That’s not fun—what? Outside Ferelden?” Adrian asked, too astounded to complain about that jape. 

“I think I’d know if I had crossed the Waking Sea, Warden,” Hawke replied, that cheeky smile on her lips once again. “You are in the Free Marches, near the Vimmark Mountains. Those mountains.” She pointed at the mountain chain where Adrian and his companions had found the exit from the Deep Roads. “Right now, you are standing on the Vimmark Wasteland.”

“So it’s true. The Deep Roads really cross the seas!” Sigrun exclaimed. 

The dwarf’s comment caught everyone‘s attention. Even the ever-smiling Hawke looked at them with a new shade of respect. “You reached the Free Marches through the Deep Roads. Well, congratulations. I’d never have enough nerve.”

Adrian felt a rivulet of sweat running down his cheek. That place, the Vimmark Wasteland, was as hot as a screaming fire. “We’d like to return to Amaranthine as soon as possible. We’d be grateful if you could point us in the right direction.”

“Come along. We’ll escort you to Kirkwall, you can board a ship there,” Hawke replied. And as she moved, the three men followed her without question.

* * *

It wasn’t long after the start of their march that Hawke approached him once again. Adrian sighed, wondering if he had to endure another jape, but the woman surprised him completely. “Ever heard the name ‘Alistair’?”

Only a considerable amount of self-control prevented him from stopping in the middle of the road. As he kept walking, he spoke through gritted teeth. “You wouldn’t ask, if you didn’t know already.” The anguish for his friend’s fate sweetened his voice. “Have you seen him? Is he… alright?”

Hawke didn’t answer immediately. “Life is odd. It really is. He was furious at you for having that… what did he say? Ah, yes. For having let ‘that blonde trollop exile him’. And here you are asking me if he is alright.”

That revelation was too much to swallow on. Alistair had somehow confided his misfortune to this woman, and had painted him as a scumbag. It was to be expected, yes, but it was painful nonetheless. 

“Oh, don’t worry. He didn’t really blame you, he blamed ‘the fuckin’ Swamp Witch’, he said it’s her fault. Perhaps this is of some consolation?” 

This time, Adrian couldn’t help but stop dead in his tracks. “What?” he inquired, too shocked to elaborate. 

“Before you ask, she is well too. At least, she was last time I saw her in Kirkwall,” Hawke added, a soft smile on her lips, somewhat amused. 

“Do you think this is all a joke?” Adrian asked, barely containing his anger. “I have no idea how you know so much about two people I traveled with for over a year, and honestly it matters little. Don’t dare to have fun with my—our personal life. There’s more to it than you can imagine.”

Adrian expected another jape, another smile. Instead, Hawke frowned. “I apologize, Warden. Yes, I jape much and sometimes about matters that don’t need japing, but don’t think I don’t know what… caring for someone means. I…” she cleared her throat, suddenly embarrassed, “I met both Alistair and the Witch. I can tell you more, if you want. I don’t understand how your friend, Alistair, can be so furious with you, and you be so saddened by his words. Feelings should be… simpler.”

Only then, watching Hawke talking about feelings in discomfort and saying ‘feelings should be simpler’, Adrian saw under her cheerful surface. She reminded him of who he had been, naïve and candid. That old Mahariel would not have wanted someone to pry. “Yes, I’d very much like to listen to you.”


	26. A year of blood ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When her daughter gets sick, Morrigan finds out more than she anticipated about her own blood ties and the ones connecting her, Valena and Adrian.

**_Dragon 33, Drakonis_ **

In and out. In and out.   
The sound of Valena’s breathing, as raspy and fragmented as it was, had become sweet music for Morrigan’s ears. 

She spent hours in the same, dark room with her daughter, witnessing every attack of vomit Valena was subject to and the pearl-like sweating on her skin. Each time her daughter closed her eyes, Morrigan was afraid it would be the last. Twice a day, she spoon-fed her the Wormwood decoction, waiting for her to fall in more restoring sleep. Despite the Wormwood, though, Valena’s sleep was never quieter and her fever never decreased that much. Still, Morrigan was rewarded by the sound of that raspy breathing which meant her daughter was fighting for her life. 

“Revered Seer?” 

Morrigan ignored the whisper behind her, just like she had done over the course of those three days. Seer Cierra was probably going to ask her to return to her duties, at least for a while, and to remind her that the good people of Ayesleigh needed her assistance. Answering Cierra would have made no sense. She’d have to decline the request. 

“I… Your son is crying and calling your name.”

This time, Morrigan flinched. That was how Valena’s illness had started, with her crying due to her pain. Was Kieran in pain, too? Caressing her daughter’s forehead, she stood. Cierra was waiting for her near the door. 

Upon seeing her in bright light, Cierra gasped. As if she’d seen a ghost. “Revered Seer, you need to rest. You—“

“I don’t have time for this. Where is my son?” Morrigan snapped. “Is he burning with fever, too?”

For a moment, she regretted being so harsh with Cierra. That young woman had been the first to welcome here as she had stepped out of the Eluvian, and the first to acclaim her as The-One-Conquering-The-Silent-Mirror. Then, Cierra had trained her, taught her to communicate with spirits. She was now the Revered Seer of Ayesleigh, all thanks to that patient teacher. But right now, her children were the most precious thing. 

Not daring to defy her, Cierra shook her head. “No. He is well. He just misses his mother, just like the people of the city do.”

“They’ll have to wait, Cierra,” Morrigan said, in a tone that she hoped sounded final, then she left the room.   
Kieran was sitting on the floor of the room next to Valena’s. As he saw her, his dark eyes gleamed with joy and relief. He didn’t stand and run to her, though—like any other child would. Kieran was a special child in every aspect, quieter than any of his age, at times even melancholy. Sometimes, the Seers noticed how deep in thoughts he was and asked what a young child like him could be worried for. Kieran always remained silent. He couldn’t have replied in any coherent manner, of course, because he only babbled yet, but Morrigan suspected Urthemiel wouldn’t allow him to anyway. Right now, however, he was just a one-year-old child who was missing his mama. 

Kneeling in front of him, Morrigan held him to her chest and whispered in his ear. “I miss you too, sweety,” she said. She took advantage of that hug to make sure his skin wasn’t burning hot. As she felt his skin not burning with fever under her touch, she sighed. At least, he was safe. Maybe Urthemiel was protecting his vessel, but she wasn’t going to take the risk and bring him into Valena’s room. 

Kieran babbled something. Undefined sounds that not even a mother could decipher. He seemed calmer, at least. 

And now that she was holding her son, she realized how she had really missed having him around. Still, she had to take care of her Valena now. Something inside her mind her heart knew that there was no guarantee she’d survive that tenacious illness. The Wormwood, the only plant known to cure the Bad Air, wasn’t really helping, simply keeping her afloat. Alive. One day, that might not be enough.

**_§§§_ **

“How’s little Valena?” Cierra asked as they were breaking their fast.

The more Morrigan drugged Valena, the less the Wormwood acted against her infection. Now, she needed to use double the dose for the cure to be effective. For the first time, she wondered if Valena was going to die without having a chance to meet her father. Her real father. She wasn’t sure she’d ever see him again, or if she wanted to, but one day she’d have to tell her children about their birth. And if her daughter asked her to meet her dad, Morrigan would comply. But now, she could close her eyes forever without ever being held by him. 

“Stable,” Morrigan whispered, curtly. A cruel word, that one. A word used for those still alive, but not making any real recovery. 

“Have you… tried contacting the spirits, Revered Seer?” 

Morrigan exploded with anger. “Don’t you think I did? My daughter’s life is at stake. I’d give mine if I could.”  
She didn’t want to tell Cierra how every spirit she had summoned had told her how [that] her daughter’s blood was different… darkened, and how [that] there was nothing they could do. Unless she bargained with a tainted spirit, they couldn't help her.

Cierra opened her eyes wide, and grasped in response of Morrigan’s anger. She dropped the remainder of her orange juice on the tablecloth, and the glass, too, fell crashing on the ground. “Yes, yes. Of course, Revered Seer.”

What followed was several minutes of silence. Cierra was afraid to anger her again, Morrigan knew it. And Morrigan, to lash out at the poor girl once again. 

“Do I have your permission to talk, Revered Seer?” Cierra asked in a feeble, almost trembling voice. 

“You do.”

“You know what your arrival meant for us. For the Seers and the city of Ayesleigh,” the young seer started. Her eyes low, she was clumsily trying to clean the tablecloth. “No one ever had managed to activate the Silent Mirror, the door to the spirit world you came from. We were waiting for you. You are our Revered Seer, The-One-Conquering-The-Silent-Mirror. And it’s my moral obligation to offer you all the help I can.”

All the help? Did that mean there was more that could be done for Valena? Morrigan gestured for her to keep talking, silently holding her breath. 

“There is...” Cierra began, taking a deep breath. She stopped for a few seconds. “It is a dangerous road, Revered Seer, but I believe She may save your child. Unlike the Seers, She dwells in dark rituals and consorts with wicked entities. We are forbidden to make contact with such creatures, which means there’s nothing more the Seers can offer you.” Her voice lowered again. “Search for the Witch of the Wilds in the Tellari Swamps. All I ask is that, if you don’t wish me to be punished, you don’t ever tell I was the one mentioning her.”

Too shocked to speak in response, Morrigan pondered in silence. Mother had never told her about others like her, holding the same title. Did that mean that Mother was the one waiting for her to walk into the Coastal Forest? Even worse, was Mother responsible for her daughter’s illness? It could be all a ruse, a trap. But nonetheless, that was perhaps the only path leading to Valena’s salvation. 

“If… if this saves my Valena,” Morrigan finally managed to utter, “she’ll know she owes you her life, Cierra.”

* * *

The Tellari Swamps were, and at the same time weren’t, like the Korcari Wilds. While the first smelled of the sea despite its name and was made alive by the sound of the waves crashing on the cliffs in the distance, the latter revolved around its swamps. Either way, water ruled in both areas—and in the same way, both areas were somehow janitor and guardian of a kind of power few were courageous enough to seek out, much less taste. 

Her sleeping daughter in her arms, Morrigan was walking the main path of that unknown, yet familiar, forest. The Witch of the Wilds, Cierra had said. What did that mean? Was she about to meet one of her sisters? Or was that name, perhaps, just a way to call a woman known to practice magic and live in the woods?

“Well, well. What have we here? Who fares so deep into these Swamps of Mine?”

The feminine, tuneful voice took her by surprise. Morrigan turned, clutching Valena to her chest, half-waiting for the owner of the voice to be nowhere near her, to be merely an echo. Instead, she found herself face to face with a younger carbon copy of Mother. The kind of woman she perhaps had been during her youth. If that were the face and the body that had enchanted Lord Conobar and Osen the bard, Morrigan could not blame them. The woman Cierra had called the Witch of the Wilds reminded her of Mother so much that Morrigan wondered, in horror, if perhaps Mother herself had truly taken over one of the lifeless bodies of her daughters.

“Mother?” Morrigan whispered. 

The other woman laughed. A clear, amused laugh that was nothing like Flemeth’s—although Mother had sometimes laughed, and appreciated the right kind of humor, the sound coming from her throat had never been truly warm. “Not quite. More like 'sister', if you wish. Even so, that wouldn't be accurate either.” Her smile slowly died on her lips as her gaze fell on Valena. She asked, her tone genuinely curious, “Is that what motherhood can turn a woman into? Into someone more prone to fear the worst for her , than carefully considering which danger is actually real, and which isn’t?” She started walking towards Morrigan, her pace not nearly as elaborate as Mother‘s and much more practical. 

Although this Witch of the Wilds spoke in riddles too, she also possessed some kind of… impulsive trait that didn’t suit Mother, it seemed. Morrigan took a deep breath. She might not believe the woman’s words, but she did know Mother enough that she wasn’t the young apostate standing in front of her. “So it’s true. I have… sisters,” Morrigan said. 

“You didn’t come here for a family reunion, did you?” the Tellari Swamp Witch retorted. Before Morrigan could stop her, she touched Valena’s forehead. “Your daughter doesn’t have much time left. I can help her… provided you accept the bargain I propose to you.”

“Wh—“ Morrigan began.   
“Are you really going to ask me what bargain? We both know you’d accept. Whatever it is. Except, perhaps, if I asked for your son. Which I will not. Even more, your son is not involved in the terms in the slightest.”

Closing her mouth, Morrigan didn’t reply. The woman—her sister, or the closest to a sister she had—was right. Asking meant losing precious time.

**_§§§_ **

Yavana, so the Tellari Swamp Witch was named, in some weird manner reminded Morrigan of Lirene. Those two women could not be more different, but they had one important thing in common: They were both healers, and they both knew how precision was crucial when creating a healing potion. Morrigan noticed how Yavana poured one single drop, not more, not less, of dark red liquid into the quinine extract she had readied. Having studied with Lirene, Morrigan had become familiar with several ingredients, and yet that dark red liquid she hadn’t seen, ever.

“What is that?” Morrigan asked. 

“Quiet now. I have a patient to work on,” Yavana curtly replied. 

Yavana proceeded to massage Valena’s hands, feet, and forehead with that decoction. She never said a word, completely focused on her task. Yavana was very much Flemeth’s daughter, but her dedication to a patient was, once again, something Flemeth had always lacked. Even when she had taken care of Adrian and Alistair’s wounds, she had done as much because she had had to—while to Yavana, a patient was clearly a personal mission. In the end, the Tellari Swamp Witch covered Valena with a blanket. 

“A special kind of blood. Very close to the one that runs in your daughter’s veins. Sure, the Seers could eventually have figured out that only quinine can heal a severe form of jungle fever. Even so, there’s no way they could have access to that blood. One single drop of it made your daughter’s body receptive to the quinine. Later, when she’ll wake up and the fever will be lower, she’ll have to drink one spoon of the same mixture. ”

Valena’s blood, Morrigan thought. The daughter of a Warden and a human. Grey Wardens are made, not born, that much was known, but what about a Warden’s progeny? Did Valena share her father’s resistance to the taint, at least in part, or the taint itself?

“Do you plan to feed my daughter darkspawn blood?” Morrigan wondered, amazed and not bothering to hide it. “That’s poisonous. That’s why Wardens don’t always survive their Joining.”  
“Not just any darkspawn blood. What I used was the blood of a darkspawn… mixed with Warden’s blood. It is still poisonous, but not the same as pure darkspawn blood. And not to your daughter, not in that little quantity,” Yavana, calmly replied. Then, she sat in front of Morrigan, her fingers intertwined. “It’s time to discuss payment. If I was lying, which I’m not, you’ll find out soon enough, way before leaving the Swamp. So, I really have nothing to gain from tricking you.”

“If Valena does not survive, I’ll kill you,” Morrigan threatened. 

“Yes. Yes. I know,” Yavana said, waving a hand to dismiss the subject. “Now, about that payment… I believe you’re acquainted with Alistair Theirin. All I want in exchange for your daughter’s life, is that you bring him to me. To these Swamps.” 

Morrigan blinked. “The man is a disgrace. He’s brother to the late king, true, but nothing more. I doubt he’ll sit on the throne, ever. What do you want with him?”

Yavana smiled. A predatory smile. “Blood is power, my dear sister. Candidate to the throne or not, Alistair Theirin is the key to the preservation of the world. Its lifeline, in a sense.”


End file.
